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* 






Xovell’s International Series 


The 

Black-Box Murder 


BY THE 

MAN WHO DISCOVERED THE MURDERER 


Authorised Edition 


NEW YORK 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 

SUCCESSORS TO 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 Worth Street, corner Mission Place 

Every work in this series is published by arrangement with the author 


Issued Weekly. Annual Subscription $15.00. August 21, 1890. 
Entered at New York Post Office as second-class matter. 


BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT WITH THE AUTHOR S, 

LOVELLS 


International Series 

OF 

MODERN NOVELS. 


THE NEW WORKS PUBLISHED IN THIS EXCELLENT 
SERIES, SEMI-WEEKLY, ARE ALWAYS THE FIRST 
ISSUED IN THIS COUNTRY. 

EVERY ISSUE IS PRINTED FROM NEW, CLEAR 
ELECTROTYPE PLATES, PRINTED ON FINE PAPER 
AND BOUND IN ATTRACTIVE PAPER COVERS OF 
ORIGINAL DESIGN. 


No. CTS. 

13. On Circumstantial Evidence. By Florence Marrystt 30 

14. Miss Kate ; or Confessions of a Caretaker. By Rita 30 

15. A Vagabond Lover. By Rita 20 

16. The Search for Basil Lyndhurst. By Rosa Nouchette Carey,. 30 

17. The Wing of Azrael. By Mona Caird 30 

18. The Fog Princes. By F. Warden 30 

19. John Herring. By S. Baring-Gould 50 

20. The Fatal Phryne By F. C Philips and C. J. Wills 30 

21. Harvest. By John Strange Winter 30 

22. Mehalah. By S. Baring-Gould 50 

23. A Troublesome Girl. By “The Duchess.” 30 

24. Derrick Vaughan, Novelist. By Edna Lyall 30 

25. Sophy Carmine. By John Strange Winter 30 

26. The Luck of the House. By Adeline Sergeant 30 

27. The Pennycomequicks. By S. Baring-Gould 50 

28. Jezebel’s Friends. By Dora Russell 30 

29. Comedy of a Country House. By Julian Sturgis 30 

30. The Piccadilly Puzzle. By Fergus Hume 30 

31. That Other Woman. By Annie Thomas 30 

32. The Curse of Carne’s Hold. By G. A. Henty 30 

33. Uncle Piper of Piper’s Hill. By Tasma 30 

34. A Life Sentence. By Adeline Sergeant 30 

35. Kit Wyndham. By Frank Barrett 30 

36. The Tree of Knowledge. By G. M. Robins 30 

37. Roland Oliver. By Justin McCarthy .* 30 

38. Sheba. By Rita 30 

39. Sylvia Arden. By Oswald Crawfurd 30 

40. Young Mr. Ainslie’s Courtship. By F. C. Philips 30 

41. The Haute Noblesse. By George Manville Fenn 30 

42. Mount Eden. By Florence Marryatt 30 

43. Buttons. By John Strange Winter 30 

44. Nurse Revel’s Mistake. By Florence Warden 30 

45. Arminell. By S. Baring-Gould 50 

46. The Lament of Dives. By Walter Besant 30 

47. Mrs. Bob. By John Strange Winter 30 

48. Was Ever Woman in this Humor Wooed. By Chas. Gibbon 30 

49. The Mynns Mystery. By George Manville Fenn 30 

50. Hedri. By Helen Mathers 30 

51. The Bondman. By Hall Caine 30 

52. A Girl of the People. By L. T. Meade 30 

53. Twenty Novelettes. By Twenty Prominent Novelists 30 

54. A Family Without A Name. By Jules Verne 30 

55. A Sydney Sovereign. By Tasma 30 

56. A March in the Ranks. By Jessie FothergUl 30 

57. Our Erring Brother. By F. W. Robinson 30 

58. Misadventure. By W. E. Norris : 30 

59. Plain Tales from the Hills. By Rudyard Kipling 50 

60. Dinna Forget. By John Strange Winter 30 

61. Cosette. By Katherine S. Macquoid 30 

62. Master of His Fate. By J. Maclaren Cobban 30 



CONTINUED ON THIRD PAGE OF COVER. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 





lovcll’s ITnternational Cedes, IHo. 123, 


THE 


BLACK-BOX MURDER 

/ */&<> 


BY 


THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED THE MURDERER 

J02.ua VAarius Schwartz. 


<t Authorized Edition 

"copyriqh^^ / 

/ 


NEW YORK 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 

SUCCESSORS TO 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

I50 WORTH ST., COR MISSION PLACE 



,S A\ fc : - 



Copyright, 1890, 

BY 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY. 


‘ < v 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER 


CHAPTER I. 

INTRODUCES THE AUTHOR. 

If I sit down to-day to write my account 
of what is known at Scotland Yard and 
among the newspaper people as the 
“ Black-Box Murder/’ it is because, truth- 
fully, after long consideration, no man 
appears to me better qualified than I to 
speak on the subject. I am not in any 
way alluding to the literary point of view ; 
literary capacities I never have possessed, 
and, therefore, wisely shall not seek to 
acquire. They have nothing in common 
with the life I have been leading these last 
thirty years, except in so far as I was 


4 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

always wanting- a little of everything in that 
life, and of nothing too much, so may as 
well warn every reader, on this first page 
of the story, that he must not look for 
writers’ beauties in a plain record of plain 
facts. My book will have no artistic value. 
It does not pretend to anything of the 
kind. It is the story of a bad deed 
cleverly executed, and cleverly discovered, 
some men said at the time. 

I said a true thing just now about my- 
self to start with. “ A little of everything, 
and of nothing too much,” nor the same 
thing too long ; that has always been the 
maxim of my life. It is a bad maxim. I 
have put my hand into a score of money- 
bags, and drawn it out again before I 
had properly closed my fingers over the 
treasure inside ; and there’s many an un- 
grateful scoundrel at this very moment — 
sleek-faced and smooth-coated — who has 
me to thank for stepping too hurriedly out 
of comfortable quarters that he could 
occupy in consequence. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 5 

Ten years ago I was, during some eight- 
een months, in the employ of a private in- 
quiry office. Never mind how I came 
there. I had been a good many things 
before then, and I have been a good many 
things since ; but at that time I was a pri- 
vate detective. I was about forty years 
old — a little more. I had taken up the 
trade, under the pressure of adverse circum- 
stances, as a means of earning an honest 
penny, at a moment when I was badly 
in want of that indispensable article. My 
pennies have always been earned honestly, 
I am glad to say, whatever various 
pockets they may have come out of. c< An 
honest penny ! ” — heaven knows, the ex- 
pression is sufficiently accurate. In all 
my rovings I have rarely come across an 
opportunity of earning an honest pound. 

Ten years ago, at any rate, I was work- 
ing as a private detective. I liked the 
work, and I think it suited me. Mores the 
pity that I had to give it up before I saw 
half as much of it as I might have done. 


6 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


But even during the brief period of my 
connection with the office, I came across — 
“ stumbled across ” were more correct — 
one great “ inquiry,” which I was enabled 
to follow up to a satisfactory conclusion. 

It is of that case I am now anxious to 
write the record. Nobody knows much 
about it except myself. It never reached 
a court of justice, and the papers alluded 
to it in a very fragmentary manner. The 
facts were not communicated — one by one 
— to eager reporters, as they would have 
been if Scotland Yard had managed the 
business. 

I shall tell, then, what I know about the 
“ Black-Box Murder.” It is years ago 
since it was committed, and the persons 
concerned in the tragedy, for whose sake I 
have kept silence, are dead or have 
dropped out of sight. I myself am a sick 
man and a disappointed one, shunted off 
the lines before my time — a man with 
whom the world has dealt hardly, and who, 
perhaps, has dealt hardly with himself ; and 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


7 


I like, now-a-days, to recall that episode 
out of my life, and I like to talk about 
old times, and about that time best, so I 
give my story to the world. 

One thing more. It has nothing to do 
with the story, but it may have something 
to do with my way of telling it. I was a 
gentleman once — thirty, forty years ago, at 
school, and — afterwards. I don’t know 
whether that sort of thing rubs off when 
one’s coat gets shabby. 


6 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


CHAPTER II. 

INTRODUCES THE BOX. 

It was at the Gare du Nord in Paris. The 
mail had just come in from London via 
Calais, — 6.30 p.m., I think it was, or there- 
abouts, — and the passengers were hunting 
up their luggage in the great room with 
the horse-shoe stands, where the customary 
official examination takes place — “ used to 
take place,” I ought perhaps to have ex- 
pressed it, but I daresay that part of the 
business remains unaltered still. I had 
come over with the boat, and, as I had no 
registered baggage, and my little hand- 
valise had been opened on landing, I was 
free to depart in peace, But I strolled, all 
the same, into the bare, bustling “ Salle 
des Douanes,” for I had to keep an eye on 
my “ party ” — the people I was watching 
on behalf of the office. I was in atten- 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 9 

dance — unknown and undesired — on a 
young couple who innocently believed 
they were running away from their respec- 
tive papas. They were very fond and 
harmless, those young people, and I could 
see him eagerly unstrapping her boxes and 
dropping her keys. I had an easy time 
with my lovers, and plenty of opportunity 
for looking about me. 

So I wandered in and out among the 
excited, irritable groups, in search of some- 
thing to interest me, and it was not long 
before my attention was attracted by an 
old lady and her daughter, who stood 
before a mountain of, as yet, unopened 
luggage. How well I remember first see- 
ing them standing there, and how little 
I guessed at the time — but that is an 
expression I am stealing from some novel 
I have read, and I have sworn to myself to 
eschew all pretence at fine writing, for 
what is the use of mounting a horse which 
you know beforehand you can’t ride ? 

It is true, however, that those two ladies 


IO THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

were to play an important, though not the 
principal, part in the tragedy of which this 
was — for me, at any rate — the opening 
scene. One of them was old, as I have 
said — at least, she seemed fifty or there- 
abouts — fat, fair, and fussy, with a hot face, 
an agitated manner, and a loud voice. 
The custom house formalities were evi- 
dently a great trouble to her, as they are to 
so many people, and she stood there com- 
plaining to her daughter, and grumbling at 
her maid, and appealing to the cool, green- 
coated officials in a rather comical manner. 
The daughter — a tall, impressive-looking 
girl, with a quiet fire in her dark eyes — did 
not seem to approve of her mothers noisy 
agitation. 

iC Hush, mamma ! ” I heard her whisper 
repeatedly. “ He will attend to you im- 
mediately. It will be all right, you may 
be sure.” 

“ But I do hope, Edith,” answered the 
mother excitedly, “ that they will not open 
your tiresome black box.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


ii 


£ ‘ If they ask,” said the daughter uncon- 
cernedly, 4< I shall tell them it contains 
photographic apparatus, that is all.” 

As she was speaking, an official, who 
had been standing idly by, magnificently 
indifferent to entreaties from all quarters, 
condescended to lurch lazily in their direc- 
tion, and was immediately hailed afresh by 
one of the porters in blue blouses, who had 
constituted themselves guardians of the 
English ladies and their plentiful luggage. 

“ Have you anything to declare ? ” 
queried the officer, in French. 

The old lady had spread out the contents 
of her traveling-bag on the counter before 
her. She took upon herself to answer in 
voluble English. 

“ Oh, no,” she said, “ or, at least, I mean 
yes. There is this eau de Cologne, only 
the cork’s drawn ; and there’s a little Irish 
whisky in this case, and I have a pound 
and a half of four-and-sixpenny Souchong, 
— four-and-sixpence, cost price, at the 
London stores, — and that is all.” 


12 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


The official — I remember he was a surly- 
looking, yellow-faced Frenchman, with a 
tawny moustache — listened attentively* 
He let his eyes wander contemptuously 
over the very neat collection of boxes and 
baskets ; then he pointed to a large, brass- 
fitted trunk. 

“ Ouvrez-moi fa,” he said. He looked a 
little farther. “ Et fa” he added ; and, as 
he uttered the words, he laid his hand on an 
oblong box. 

“ Oh, not that one, mongsew ! ” cried the 
old lady in a flutter ; u it is such a trouble 
to unfasten the cording, and we had to do 
it up in that manner because the lock is not 
sufficiently safe.” 

The custom house officer did not reply. 
One of the little blue porters attacked the 
knot at the top of the box, which was 
secured crossways with a stout rope. I 
happened to notice the knot as the man’s 
fingers fumbled over it. 

The young lady bent over the partition. 

u We should feel obliged,” she said, in a 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 13 

low, earnest voice, and correct, though 
indifferent, French, “if you would order 
one of the other boxes to be opened. 
That one is troublesome to undo.” 

The official bowed. 

“ I am desolated, mademoiselle,” he said, 
“ but I have designated the black one. I 
can make no alteration,” and he moved 
away to the next group. 

The girl drew back, looking annoyed 
and offended. She turned upon her 
mother with what I considered unnecessary 
asperity. 

“ I told you so,” she said, “ but you 
would have that rope put round in London. 
It is the very thing to excite suspicion, 
mamma.” 

“ You know who advised it,” said the 
mother helplessly. 

She seemed past caring. She was 
occupied in keeping the porters dirty 
fingers, as far as possible, from digging 
down among the snowy linen in her own 
big trunk, and she was angrily repeating 


i 4 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

to them her orders to call the “ mongsew ” 
back instanter. 

The little group amused me. I could 
see my couple of turtle doves busily 
engaged over their brand-new luggage 
still. They must pass near me in going 
out. 

I turned again to the ladies by whom I 
was standing. I was close behind them. 
The yellow-faced functionary had come 
back ; he had tumbled the clothes about in 
the trunk, and had passed on with a 
splendid gesture of clemency to the black 
box. The rope had been loosened. 

“ Les clefs” said a porter. “ Donnez les 
clefs r 

The young lady held out one on a 
bunch. It was a common brass key. 

“ That is the key/' she said. 

They fitted it into the lock, and tried to 
turn it. It would not work. 

“ Ce nest pas celle-la ” said the man. 

Somebody tugged at it and twisted it, 
but in vain. Somebody else drew it out, 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 15 

all bent, and began trying another key on 
the hunch. But the girl stopped him with 
a swift movement. 

“ That is the key,” she said, “ and no 
other. You need not injure the lock.” 

They tried again. 

“ Burst it open,” said the customs officer 
in a low voice. “ That is not the key.” 

Burst it open ! The command was 
mercilessly obeyed, in spite of the older 
lady’s indignant and imploring protests. 
The young one said nothing. After that 
one unavailing appeal, she stood silently 
defiant. 

The lock was forced, and the lid thrown 
back. A white towel lay over the con- 
tents of the box, unequally spread out in 
little heights and hollows. Full in view, 
on the towel, were the letters “ E. R.,” 
marked in red. 

One of the men drew back this cloth. I 
stepped forward, from sheer curiosity, to 
see what there was in this wonderful box 
they had had such a trouble to open. A 


16 THE BLACKBOX MURDER , 

mass, strangely doubled up — a parcel, 
apparently, wrapped in a black cloth — or 
shawl — very heavy, whatever it was — a — 
great Heaven, no — a human body — the 
body of an old woman dressed in black ! 

I shall never forget that moment. Even 
now, all involuntarily, my hand trembles 
with excitement as I recall it after so many 
years. 

There was nothing in the box but that 
white towel and the body, which had been 
wedged in and battered down so as to 
keep steady. It had been squeezed into 
this improvised coffin with the head 
pressed tight against the stomach, the legs 
having been lifted up and rolled round. It 
was very much pushed out of shape; it 
had stiffened in this position, and they had 
the greatest difficulty in dragging it out. 

I had been too much occupied with the 
box itself to remember anything else. I 
now looked round, and perceived that the 
old lady had fainted away, and was lying 
helpless and unnoticed on the floor, while 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 17 

the young one stood as if struck to marble, 
pale to the lips, staring, staring at the dead 
body which the officials had laid out on the 
table. All the travelers still left in the 
room came crowding round, and there 
were cries of horror and amazement. My 
own unsuspecting clients were among the 
rest. 

“ II faut en finir ,” said an official with a 
broad silver band round his cap. He had 
only just recovered from his surprise. 
Several of the policemen who always stand 
about the doors had come up. The room 
was cleared, the dead body carried away, 
and the two ladies walked out in custody. 
What am I saying ? Is this how men 
write history ? The old lady remained 
unconscious, and they had to lift her up 
like a second corpse. It was the young 
one who marched past me, white and erect, 
with a sergent de ville on either side. They 
took her away to some other part of the 
building, through a side door, while I found 

myself pushed out into the great court- 
2 


18 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

yard, where I watched my young- couple 
get into one of those convenient little 
station omnibuses, and heard them order 
the driver to take them to the Grand 
Hotel. 

I have already said that I had accident- 
ally noticed the knot of the rope round the 
black box. I recalled this circumstance 
as soon as I stepped out into the air. 

The knot had been fastened by a left- 
handed person. 


THE BLA CK- BOX MURDER . 


IQ 


CHAPTER III. 

WHO DID IT. 

Having safely deposited my fugitives in 
their hotel, and telegraphed to the young 
lady’s father, on whose behalf I was work- 
ing, I walked leisurely down the boulevard, 
ruminating on the strange scene of which I 
had just been a casual spectator. I was 
far more interested — to tell the truth — in 
the ladies whose unexpected arrest I had 
witnessed, than in the pair of cooing lovers 
whom the office had entrusted to my care. 
The case of these lovers was not especially 
attractive, of a surety. The young man 
was the son of a gentleman of large pro- 
perty, and the young womans relations 
were by no means averse to the idea that 
matters should reach a stage which would 
render backing out an impossibility. No 
secret would be made of the elopement. 


20 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


I was there in the character of a spy, and a 
possible witness. You have to take the 
work that comes to hand in an office such 
as ours was. 

But the essential point for me was that I 
should be certain to be detained in Paris 
for several days at any rate, with plenty of 
free time at my disposal. So much the 
better. I threw myself with increased 
ardor into the examination of the mystery 
I had accidentally come across. 

Two perfectly harmless-looking, com- 
mon-place English ladies, travelling from 
London to Paris with a certain number 
of harmless-looking trunks and boxes, 
and in one of those boxes a human body. 
Not a commonplace circumstance, that 
last item. What did it point to ? 

Murder, undoubtedly. Of that one might 
well be certain from the very first Here 
was a case of murder accidentally dis- 
covered in a most singular manner. 

Murder ! A detective immediately asks, 
By whom ? It is the first question — the 


THE BLACHE OX MURDER. 


21 


natural one — which suggests itself, even 
before those which have reference to the 
person murdered. The identification of 
the body will probably be possible to- 
morrow, the capture of the murderer may 
not. “ Who is it ? ” “ Who did it ? ” The 
two pull together, but “ Who did it ? ’’ 
pulls hardest in the detective’s brain. 

I had, as yet, no opportunities for an- 
swering either of these questions, but I 
could not help repeating them all the same. 
Two females and their maid — but never 
mind about the maid for a moment — had 
been arrested with the corpse in their pos- 
session. What did I know about those 
two females ? 

Next to nothing, you will say. True, 
and yet, in my then profession, a great 
deal. 

I knew, to begin with, their name — or 
the name they called themselves by. I 
had already seen “ Mrs. Orr-Simpkinson, 
passenger from London to Paris,” on a 
number of luggage-labels. “ Orr-Simpkin- 


22 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


son,” doubtless, was what the old lady 
called herself ; and, whether it happened to 
be her correct name or not, it was un- 
doubtedly the one she had left London 
under. I knew, secondly, where they 
came from — or, rather, I knew where 
they came from last. The two ladies, 
and the box, and the body, had been in 
London that morning up to eleven o’clock. 

I knew, moreover, the incidents of the 
discovery, and I carefully recapitulated 
them. The question before me was as 
follows : It is, of course, as yet impossi- 
ble to say who committed the murder, 
but is it worth while to take either of 
these two females, and work her out as 
a possible “ case ? ” I put the old lady 
on one side for the moment. Her be- 
havior during the scene — her whole per- 
sonality — seemed to preclude the idea 
of her being a murderess. 

There was only one serious point against 
her. It was not so much her reluctance 
to having the box opened, as the cord 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 23 

would account for that, but it was the 
fact of my having heard her own daugh- 
ter say to her in an undertone, — “ I told 
you so, but you would have that rope 
put round in London. It is the very 
thing to excite suspicion .” But even those 
words might have been used with a 
general meaning; and, at the worst, it 
seemed most unlikely that the mother 
would ever prove to be anything more 
than an accessory after the deed. 

But the daughter ? There appeared to 
be a good deal more reason to distrust 
the daughter. She was, as I have said, 
a dark, impressive-looking girl, with plenty 
of character in her face, and did not look 
the kind of person who would draw back 
for a trifle. Still, one does not soon 
accuse a harmless young lady, travelling 
with her mother, of the most terrible of 
crimes. But then, few young ladies travel 
with corpses in their trunks. 

The young lady’s anxiety not to have 
the box opened had been extremely 


24 the black-box murder. 

marked. Natural in itself, perhaps, it had, 
under the circumstances, become suspi- 
cious. And another item, in addition to 
this, appeared of still greater importance. 
When summoned to obey, she had refused 
the key. 

There was no doubt in my mind that the 
key she had proffered was the wrong one. 
She had refused the key. 

What reason could she have for doing 
so, unless she was anxious to prevent the 
opening of the box at any cost, and 
expected the officials to give way, and 
content themselves with some other article 
of luggage ? She had reiterated that the 
key was the right one. It evidently was 
not. She had told a lie. 

I have noticed, during my brief detective 
career, and I have found the remark repeated 
by colleagues of far greater experience, 
that, when you find any one willing boldly 
to speak or act a lie, you may safely 
presume the possibility — not more than the 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 25 

possibility, mind you — of every other crime. 
He who can lie may kill. 

Everything pointed to the conclusion 
that the young lady — Miss Simpkinson, I 
supposed she called herself — was perfectly 
well aware of the strange contents of the 
box. And this in itself, surely, appeared 
sufficiently remarkable. So much being 
admitted, everything became possible. 

Still, I could not persuade myself that 
Miss Simpkinson was the actual murderess. 
Intuitions and impressions, if rightly con- 
trolled (ah, there’s the rub!), go a long 
way towards making a good detective. I 
had an intuition that Miss Simpkinson 
would not prove to be the person who had 
done the deed, although it must remain 
evident that she was in some manner con- 
nected with it. In what manner time 
must show. 

The whole mystery, you will say, was no 
business of mine. I do not hesitate to 
admit that. I had no right to inquire into 
it, and but little opportunity of doing so, 


26 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


but I felt inexplicably drawn towards it all 
the same. I could not keep my thoughts 
off that scene in the custom-house. The 
thin, old face, with its staring eyes, seemed 
to look out at me from all the shop 
windows. Who killed that poor old 
woman ? Why was she killed ? I felt 
that I must occupy myself with the subject, 
whether I wished to or not. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


27 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE TWO DUBERTS. 

I have said that I had but little oppor- 
tunity of investigating the matter. To tell 
the truth, I had just one chance, the 
merest chance, of finding out something 
more about it. 

Some months ago I had come into con- 
tact with a Parisian commissaire de police 
in the course of my professional duties. 
My employers always selected me for 
Continental work, because of my having 
learnt French thoroughly well in my youth. 
I had been sent to Paris about a case of 
breach of confidence, and, finding myself 
obliged to work together with Monsieur 
Dubert (that was the commissary’s name), 
I had been enabled to do him a trifling 


28 THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 

service. I had not seen him since, but I 
resolved to call on him now. There was 
but little possibility of his being able to 
help me in any way, only you never can 
know. 

I found my police officer in his little 
office near the Pantheon. That was 
where his district lay. He was evidently 
most delighted to see me, though perhaps 
a little effusive for an Englishman’s taste. 
He knew nothing as yet of what had 
occurred at the Gare du Nord a couple of 
hours ago. I told him frankly that I was 
anxious to follow up the discovery, and 
added that perhaps the French Govern- 
ment might be able to turn my unexpected 
presence to account. 

And now good luck befriended me. But 
no, that is saying too much. For surely 
there was nothing remarkable in the fact 
that Monsieur Dubert, though he found 
himself outside the case altogether, should 
know of brother officers who would natu- 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


29 


rally be in it. Only, as it happened, the 
commissary of the quarter directly con- 
cerned was, he told me, a relation of his. 
I don’t see that this made much difference 
in my favor, after all. I forget now 
whether the man was a brother or a 
cousin. I fancy he must have been a 
cousin, but, at all events, the name was the 
same. My Monsieur Dubert was L4on> 
and the commissary up at the station was 
Frangois. 

My friend immediately offered to take 
me up to see his cousin — if cousin it was. 
He was on duty for half-an-hour longer, 
during which I had to curb my impatience 
as best I might, and to amuse myself by 
observing the numerous little formalities 
and punctilios of French police service. 
They are capital policemen, all the same, 
especially the gendarmes, and the service 
de surete. 

The half hour came to an end, and 
Monsieur Dubert locked up his desk. We 


3 o THE BLACKBOX MURDER . 

got into a cab, and drove the longdistance 
up into the north of the city. And there, 
in a similar little office, we found Monsieur 
Francis. 

He knew enough about the discovery, 
you may be sure. All that evening he 
had heard of nothing else, spoken of 
nothing else, thought of nothing else. 
He was a talkative, excitable little man, 
not the best material for a police officer, 
I should have thought. But one is often 
very much mistaken in judgments of that 
nature. 

On this occasion he was, I believe, more 
especially excited, on account of the im- 
portance and the difficulties of this half- 
foreign case. Of course he spoke no 
language but his own — French officials, 
like our English ones, never do — and the 
ladies in arrest being foreigners, the box 
having come from abroad, the whole inves- 
tigation was complicated with foreign 
matter. His interpreter, he complained, 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 31 

had proved inadequate. He was all the 
more willing to accept of such assistance as 
I could offer. It turned out to be even 
less than I had hoped. 

He began by telling us exactly how 
matters stood at this moment. The older 
lady, it appeared, had not yet recovered 
consciousness. She was delirious, and had 
been removed to the infirmary by the 
advice of the medical man connected with 
the (f Commissariat.” The commissaire 
did not believe that she would prove to 
be seriously implicated in the case. 

The young lady and the maid had under- 
gone a preliminary examination. As for 
the maid, she evidently knew nothing 
about the whole matter. As for the young 
lady, she evidently knew a great deal. 

The maid had not been able even to 
identify the deceased, whom she positively 
affirmed never to have seen before in her 
life. From her evidence two points had 
been made clear, nevertheless. 


32 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


( 1 ) That the deceased had not been in 
company of the Simpkinsons during the 
time immediately preceding the murder, as 
their maid did not recognize her. 

(2) That the black box was Miss 
Simpkinsons property, for the maid had 
identified the box . 

Miss Simpkinson’s examination had 
naturally been of much greater interest. 
Monsieur Francis Dubert obligingly 
showed me his proces-verbaL Nevermind 
whether he ought to have done so ; he was 
glad enough to think I could help him in 
the business. 

Miss Simpkinsons behavior certainly 
was peculiar, and altogether precluded the 
possibility of her complete innocence. She 
had answered one-half of the questions put 
to her, and refused to answer the other 
half. She had confessed readily enough 
that her name and her mother’s was “ Orr- 
Simpkinson,” as indicated on the boxes, 
and that they had left London on that 
morning, after having spent the night at a 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


33 


private hotel.* But when questioned as 
to her regular place of abode, or her where- 
abouts on the preceding day, she had sud- 
denly refused to reply. Then she had 
reconsidered her decision, and subsequently 
given her accurate address at Tooting, 
adding that she had come up to the hotel 
with her mother the day before, so as to be 
nearer the station in the morning. Th 
maid, on being recalled, had upset th.j 
latter statement, in spite of vehement sign* 
from her young mistress, and had infonru ij 
the commissary that the ladies had been 
spending the last three weeks together n 
Southend, and that it was from Southend, 
and not from Tooting, they had come up to 
London. It now came out, also, that the 
maid had not been with them during this 
time, but had joined them that morning at 
the station, coming from the Tooting house. 

* I may say here, once for all, that I have, of course, 
substituted other names for the original ones all 
through this narration. Only the initials have been 
retained in each case. 


3 


34 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

i 

This might explain the fact of her recog- 
nizing the murdered lady. At any rate 
— this conclusion seemed certain — Miss 
Simpkinson knew who the dead woman 
was, and the maid did not. “ And oh, 
dear, Miss,” the maid had said, bursting 
into tears, a you know as it’s the Gospel 
truth I’m telling, and why don’t you send 
for Mr. Harvey ? ” 

After that the commissary’s tone had 
grown sterner, and Miss Simpkinson’s 
manner yet more refractory. Miss Simp- 
kinson had acknowledged, however, that 
the box was undoubtedly hers. And the 
key, she said, was hers also. 

A towel had been found in the box. 
Was the towel hers? “No.” Did she 
know, or believe she knew, whose it might 
possibly be? She could not say. It was 
marked with the letters “ E. R ; ” had she 
any idea what name those letters could 
stand for ? She refused to answer. 

The linen of the deceased had been found 
to bear the same letters ; it was probable, 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 35 

therefore, that the towel had belonged to 
her. Could Miss Simpkinson identify the 
deceased ? 

“ Yes.” 

I started when I reached this point in the 
proces-verbaly and yet, after all, it was no 
more than might have been expected. But 
I started yet more when I read the next 
two lines. 

u Would she do so ? ” 

“ No.” 

It had been impossible to get anything 
more out of her. Threats and entreaties 
had alike proved vain. The commissary 
had closed the preliminary inquiry in de- 
spair, and the English young lady had been 
sent to the D6p6t on the charge of murder 
of a person unknown. 

The commissary's mind was made up on 
the subject. I have only one charge against 
Continental criminal procedure, but it is a 
serious one. It does not give the accused, 
as it seems to me, a ghost of a chance. 
Once arrested, he is pronounced guilty 


36 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

immediately, and henceforth judges and 
public prosecutors have but one object — 
to bully or cheat him into confessing his 
crime. I have often heard intelligent for- 
eigners — my Monsieur Dubert for one — 
admit this fact and deplore it. 

On this occasion, however, Leon Dubert 
joined with his cousin in suspecting Miss 
Simpkinson. It only remained to be seen 
in how far she had accomplices, or was her- 
self, perhaps, but an accessory, for there 
could not be the slightest doubt, they were 
agreed, that she was very seriously impli- 
cated. I admitted they were right. They 
summed up all the items against her, and 
they certainly made out a very heavy bill. 
She had been aware from the very first of 
the horrible contents of the box, which, for 
some reason or other, she was piloting out 
of the kingdom. Why had she traveled 
with it ? Probably to bring the dead body 
where it could be buried or abandoned 
with less fear of recognition. She had 
evidently trusted to chance, the abundance 


THE BLACKBOX MURDER . 37 

of her luggage, her own powers of persua- 
sion, the cord, the lost key — to all these 
things together, in her hope of avoiding 
attention, and it was only by a combination 
of fatalities, and the ungracious obstinacy 
of the officials, that her plan had been frus- 
trated. So much was plain to the French- 
men as well as to myself. 

It was furthermore certain that she knew 
about the murder, and that the name of the 
victim was also no secret to her. She had 
striven to mislead M. Dubert altogether 
with regard to her stay in Southend. She 
had admitted that the box in which the 
body was found was hers — her maid had 
proved that besides, — and she had refused 
any information with regard to the towel it 
contained. 

The maid, by-the-bye, had also been 
questioned about this towel, and from her 
evidence it had become certain that it did 
not belong, and could not have belonged, 
to Mrs. Simpkinson’s linen stores. My 
first impression had been that the letters 


3 3 THE B LACK-BOX MURDER . 

might have been added to purposely con- 
fuse, but this was, of course, removed when 
I learned from M. Francois Dubert that 
the murdered woman’s linen war marked 
in the same manner. The towel ivd be- 
longed to her. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER, 


39 


CHAPTER V. 

THE LUGGAGE-LABELS. 

“So much is undeniable,” said L6on Du- 
bert, as we sat talking over the affair in 
the commissary's bureau ; “ the young lady 
has the whole secret in her keeping. More 
than that, it is probably by her, or at her 
instigation, that the deed was done.” 

“Undoubtedly,” I answered ; “ but you 
will find, mark me, that she is not alone ” 

“ Probably,” said L4on. 

“And even, believe me, you will find 
that she is not number one.” 

“ Why ? ” queried Francois in surprise. 

“ I do not know. I may be mistaken, 
but that is what I believe.” 

“ I will tell you why,” interposed Leon 
laughing. “ She is young ; she is a com- 


40 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

patriot ; she is pretty. Is she not pretty ? 
Enfin , she is interesting — and a murderess ? 
Fie ! It is too villainous. So there must 
be a number one. Beware, my friend, of 
pretty women in a police-court.” 

I laughed too, but I only nodded my 
head, and asked whether we could not see 
the box and the corpse. 

As it happened, this was still possible. 
The body would be removed to the Morgue 
early next morning, but it had been decided 
to leave it for the night at the police-station. 
Francis Dubert took his cousin and me 
into an adjoining room. 

This room was bare, but for a large 
table, — a plain wooden board on trestles, 
— a long bench, and a great white stove. 
It had no other exit than through the com- 
missary’s office. It was used as a rule, I 
believe, for such witnesses as he might 
order to be brought before him. 

On the long, narrow table the dead body 
was laid out, just as it had been removed 
from the box. I examined it closely. It 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


4i 


was the body of a female, apparently be- 
longing to the upper middle-class — a lady 
undoubtedly, though rather a prim and old- 
fashioned looking one. The age was, as 
nearly as I could establish it, between sixty 
and sixty-five. The deceased was dressed 
in a long, plain, black gown, made of hand- 
some woollen stuff, but entirely untrimmed, 
and wore neat cuffs and a tight-fitting 
collar. She had on a black lace cap, fast- 
ened with jet-headed pins to her grey hair, 
which lay in smooth bands over a lofty 
forehead. The expression of the pinched, 
parchmenty face was not an amiable one, 
even in death. There was a hard and 
stingy look in the staring, light-blue eyes, 
and an obstinate twist about the thin lips. 

“ Une mec haute vieille” said Leon. 

I thought it was more than probable. 

She still wore her watch — a plain, ten- 
guinea, keyless Bennett, fastened by a black 
guard. I looked at it, and took the num- 
ber. 


42 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

“ That will go a long way towards iden- 
tifying her,” I said, “ if nothing else turns 
up.” 

There was also a purse in her pocket, 
marked “ Parkins and Gotto,” and con- 
taining some loose silver, and three sover- 
eigns in gold in a separate compartment. 
Furthermore, the pocket contained a fine 
cambric handkerchief marked “ E. R.,” like 
all the rest of the old lady’s exquisite 
linen. 

Robbery had evidently not been the 
motive of the crime. I never had thought 
it would prove to be, from the very first. 

I lifted up the head and removed the 
cap. On pushing back the thin hair, I 
found a great, dull, bloodless bruise, high 
up over the left temple. I asked Francois 
whether he had noticed it. He said, “ No ; 
the examination of the body would take 
place to-morrow at the Morgue.” 

It was evident that the deceased had 
been stunned by a blow ; but such a blow 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


43 


could hardly have been sufficient to cause 
instantaneous death. 

It appeared far more probable that chlo- 
roform would prove to be the cause of 
death, if no symptoms of poisoning were 
found at the examination. 

Could a woman have struck the blow ? 
I examined the bruise again. It was diffi- 
cult, of course, to say for certain, but it 
looked as if great force must have been 
used in striking. 

On the whole, I did not think it likely a 
woman would have proceeded in this man- 
ner. The chloroform looked like feminine 
work, but hardly the blow. 

I asked in vain for permission to undress 
the body. M. Francois would not allow 
any one to do that till the experts had seen 
it. Of course he was quite right. 

I next asked, and obtained, permission 
carefully to examine the box. I did so 
most minutely, but with indifferent success. 
It was a plain, oblong box, made of some 
stout wood, and painted black outside — a 


44 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

rough, unvarnished black. The lid opened 
on brass hinges, and the inside was lined 
with a common pink-striped paper. Against 
the lid was a square placard with the 
makers' name, Browne & Elder, 1 1 7 Cheap- 
side — a noted London firm, I believe. 

There was nothing at all inside the box 
but the cord which had been round it, and 
which the commissary had placed where it 
now lay. The box appeared new, and no 
stains of blood or anything else could be 
perceived on the paper. There were only 
dents in it, and one or two slight abrasions 
where the -limbs had been forced down. 
Nothing could be learnt from the inside. 

At first sight nothing could be learnt 
from the outside either. It was destined, 
however, to furnish an important clue. 

It was not lettered in any way. I asked 
Francois Dubert whether it had not had a 
passenger-label. He told me no ; and that 
this was the more remarkable because all 
the other articles of luggage, without 
exception, showed the label I had noticed 


THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 45 

at the station, “ Mrs. Orr-Simpkinson, 
passenger from London to Paris.” I looked 
at him earnestly. “ Make a note of that, 
monsieur,” I said. 

Miss Simpkinson, however, had easily 
accounted for this fact. The luggage-labels 
they used, she said, were made to tie on, 
and, at the last moment, it had been noticed 
that the box had no straps or other fasten- 
ings to which anything could be attached. 
It was stupidly made, as far as that went. 
The maid unexpectedly corroborated this 
explanation. 

When I say there were no labels, I mean 
there were no such labels as passengers affix 
for themselves. There were, of course, the 
company’s registered-luggage-papers, such 
as are used for luggage going abroad. On 
the top of the box was a big capital “ P,” 
on a white ground, signifying, I presume, 
“ Paris,” or perhaps “ passenger’s,” and in- 
tended for the convenience of the custom- 
house officers, and on the front side of the 


46 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


box was a smaller paper of a pale green 
color, marked as follows : — 

LONDON ( C ^ G ) to g 

S' 

212 Q 

PARIS. 

Not very hopeful this. Otherwise, the 
sides of the box were perfectly black and 
smooth. I lifted it up and looked under- 
neath. It was perfectly smooth and black 
there too. 

I may remark here that a locksmith had 
been called in, and that he had declared, 
after examination, that the key Miss Simp- 
kinson had produced was not intended for 
the lock, and could never, by any possibi- 
lity, have been used either to open or shut 
it. Miss Simpkinson, on hearing this, 
merely affirmed that the man lied. 

I stood looking at the box for some 
time. 

“ Y ou could tell us the mystery,” I said 
in my mind, “ if you could but speak. What 


u 

K 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 47 

are you hiding ? Who thrust that wretched 
woman down into you, and then shut your 
lid upon his crime ? Was she dead, or still 
half-alive, when you received her? You 
shall speak,” I went on excitedly. I was 
fevered with the idea that some help must 
be obtainable from the box itself in this 
horrible search. 

Suddenly an idea struck me. I sug- 
gested-to Monsieur Dubert that he should 
carefully loosen the labels and see whether, 
by any chance, another might be hidden 
underneath. He shrugged his shoulders. 
I believe he hardly dared to touch the 
box. 

“ It is the merest possibility,” I admitted, 
“ but — look here, after all, the case is in 
your hands. What a famous thing it would 
be for you if you could find out something 
of importance before it passes to the juge 
cC instruction , as it will in a day or two. 
You are perfectly entitled to do this, are 
you not ? ” 


48 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

“ Oh, yes,” he said, “ I am perfectly 
entitled.” 

tC Well then, hurry up. I have an idea 
it will be worth our while.” 

He consented, rather unwillingly. We 
took the “ London to Paris” label first, 
and began slowly loosening it in the 
orthodox manner. It is always a long job, 
that, requiring careful handling. At last, 
however, the paper came peeling off, and 
revealed the smooth black surface of the 
box. 

This was a disappointment, but I 
induced my two Frenchmen to begin with 
fresh energy on the other label, the big 
“ P ” on a white slip. And this time we 
were rewarded, if you can call so small a 
result a reward. There was another paper 
under the white one. I held my breath as 
it slowly came into view. It stood revealed 
in another moment. After all, there was 
very little on it. Only the three words in 
large printed letters, “ Greenwich to South- 
end.” Nothing else. It was a common 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


49 


label, such as the porters affix at railway 
stations. 

Nothing else? I turned the box fully 
towards the light of the flaring gas-lamp, 
and, as I held it there, close before my 
eyes, staring at it, as if I would draw the 
secret out of this little paper that had so 
unexpectedly come to light, I suddenly 
noticed two small pencilled letters in one 
corner of it, half effaced by the gum, 01 
paste, of the label which had covered them. 
They were the letters “ P. H.,” in hand- 
writing. 

I put down the box, half dizzy, I knew 
not why. 

tC This box came from Southend,” 1 
said, as calmly as I could. 

tC Y es,” replied Leon, Ci that agrees with 
what the maid told us.” 

I tilted up the box once more, almost 
mechanically, and, while continuing to talk 
in a desultory manner about the crime, I 
strove to photograph those two faint letters 
on to my brain. I hardly knew why I was 


5 ° 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


so fascinated by them, but I felt that I 
here held in my hand what would turn out 
to be, at some future period, the free end 
of a tangled skein. 

My surmise proved correct. From the 
beginning to the end, the story of the dis- 
covery of the murder hinged on those two 
letters. 

I was in a hurry to get home and retrace 
them on paper before the recollection of 
them grew faint. I bade the two French 
police-officers a hurried farewell. 

“And if you will accept of a bit of 
advice, 1 ” I said, in passing out, 66 don’t let 
anybody or anything touch or rub that 
label in any way whatsoever. It’s the 
starting point.” 

The Frenchmen looked bewildered. 
From that time we worked on separate 
lines. The foreign authorities did their 
best, but they had great difficulties to 
contend with, and they were not very 
successful in discovering the Black-Box 
Murderer. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER, 


5 1 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE MYSTERIOUS INITIALS. 

As soon as I got safely into my own room, 
I sat down and copied the two letters I had 
seen in a corner of the luggage-label exactly 
on a sheet of paper. I reproduce them 
here. 



Let the reader take note of them as 
closely as I did, if he can. 

Then I sat down to recapitulate what I 
knew of the incidents of the crime, and I 
found that I knew a great deal. 

Murder — presumably by a blow and 
subsequent chloroform — on a lady named 


52 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

“ E. R.” ; time, apparently yesterday 
evening; place, Southend; accomplice — if 
not actual perpetrator — in charge ; name, 
Edith Orr-Simpkinson. 

I had not the slightest doubt, from Miss 
Simpkinson’s prevarications, in addition to 
the discovery of the second label, that the 
place of the murder was Southend. I 
tould only not account for the absence of 
iome indication that the box had travelled 
up from Southend to London, as it must 
have done, before it could start for the 
Continent from Charing Cross. 

The first thing now was to find out the 
name of the murdered lady, and that surely 
could not be a matter of great difficulty 
for the police authorities, if they would 
only have the sense to inquire at Southend, 
and not at Tooting. The next thing would 
be to explain the mystery of the key. 

Was Miss Simpkinson speaking in good 
faith when she repeatedly affirmed that the 
key she had in her possession was that of 
the black box ? 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


S3 


She had certainly proved that she was 
capable of gross untruthfulness, but there 
was a tone of especial candor about her 
statements with regard to this matter. 

If she lied about the key, she was a con- 
summate mistress of the art of lying. 

I could not quite believe her that. She 
had too honest and energetic a manner 
about her. 

But if she was truthfully mistaken about 
the key, then — it seems the natural con- 
clusion — she might be mistaken about the 
box. 

But how could she be that ? Her maid 
had identified it, and besides, she was 
acquainted, as he had seen, with the con- 
tents. On the other hand, this box had 
been the only one among all her luggage 
that was not labelled, and her explanation 
of that discrepancy seemed hardly satisfac- 
tory. 

I was very much confused and put out. 
I could not maintain the theory that the 
box mignt not be Miss Simpkinson’s. 


54 the black-box murder. 

Pleasantly as it fitted into my plan, it was 
too evidently irrational. And, yet, I was 
puzzled about the key and the broken lock, 
and those letters, P. H. In vain I told 
myself that those letters meant nothing- at 
all, and had simply been pencilled there by 
some porter or other for reasons of his own. 
I had just half convinced myself of the 
plausibility of this suggestion, and was 
dozing off to sleep, when there flashed 
across my brain the exclamation of the 
maid which I had read in Monsieur Dubert’s 
proces-verbal , — 

“ Why don’t you send for Mr. Harvey ? ” 
“ H — Harvey. The merest coincidence, 
undoubtedly. Still — Harvey, Harvey. P. 
H. Paul Harvey. Peter Harvey. Who 
was this Mr. Harvey ? ” 

An intimate friend, evidently. 

After this, there was no more chance of 
sleep for me that night. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


55 


CHAPTER VII. 

AUSTIN. 

Next morning my young lovers occupied 
my attention. They provokingly started 
for Fontainbleau, and, still more provo- 
kingly, were charmed with the place when 
they got there, and looked for rooms. 
Fortunately they could find nothing to 
their liking, and so came back to Paris 
again. Besides, as I heard the fond young 
creature say, they would be safer in the 
city, and less likely to be traced. I wished 
she had thought of that before. 

It was six o’clock and more by the time 
I got to my room again. My young 
people went to the Chatelet to amuse 
themselves with fairy scenes, and I 
hurriedly dined at a Duval, and then 


$6 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

started for L£on Dubert’s bureau. I was 
burning to find out what progress had 
been made in the murder case. I had not 
been able to banish it from my thoughts all 
day. 

L6on Dubert knew nothing fresh about 
the matter, and passed me on to his cousin 
at once. He was hard at work on a 
robbery of his own, so I drove straight to 
Francis’ commissariat. 

I found Francois very much troubled in 
his mind, and very nervous and impatient. 
The Scotland Yard authorities had been 
telegraphed to, and they were sending over 
one of their men. In the meantime, 
nothing of importance had transpired. It 
was still impossible to examine Mrs. Simp- 
kinson, and nothing new could be got out 
of the daughter, who would not speak, or 
the maid, who had but little to say. 
Mother and daughter had been released 
from the Depot, and allowed to take up 
their abode in a house close by, which was, 
in fact, a dependence of the prison, kept by 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


57 


a woman, who looked after the prisoners, 
and remained responsible for their not 
leaving their rooms. It bore the stately 
title of a “ Pension pour Families and 
charged the prices of a first-class hotel. 

I was anxious to forestall the London 
detective, and to get hold of a clue before 
he arrived. During the whole day I had 
allowed my mind to dwell on the circum- 
stances of the case, — I could not help it, — 
and the more I had thought of them, the 
more firmly the conviction had fastened 
itself upon my brain that Miss Simpkinson 
was less guilty than appearances made her 
out to be. I had certainly not much cause 
for this belief. Perhaps L6on was right, 
and I should have been less interested in 
the young lady if she had been older and 
uglier than she was. 

I asked Francois whether I could not 
obtain permission to see her. I had been 
contemplating that step all day. I foresaw 
that it would be productive of complica- 
tions, but the very daring of it made it 


58 


THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 


attractive. Probably Frar^ois would 
seriously object. He hesitated. I urged 
that I might be able — as a compatriot — to 
get information from the prisoner which 
she would withhold from him. “ Was no 
one admitted to her ? ” I asked. 

“ Ye-es,” he said slowly — “ ye-es, one or 
two people, with an order. It is not 
altogether forbidden .” 

“ Could you take me ? ” 

“ I could ; but ” 

“ Let us go at once, then. The more 
you have found out before the London 
detectives come, the more creditable to 
you. ,, 

Well, he allowed himself to be persuaded, 
and we started. A fiacre took us to a 
gloomy house in a narrow street. I have 
forgotten the name of the street, but the 
back part of the house looked out on, and 
was protected by, the prison. It was an 
ill-lighted, melancholy place, and at that 
early hour — half-past .eight — there were 
already few passers-by, and many closed 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 59 

shutters. We drove up to a heavy door, 
with a bright gas lamp over it, and Mon- 
sieur Frangois rang the bell. It was 
answered immediately by the mistress of 
the house, who led us into a sort of parlor. 
She was a big, plump, greasy-looking 
woman, with a loud voice, and black ring- 
lets. Monsieur Dubert called her Madame 
Bassequin. The parlor was an uninviting 
apartment, with green velvet furniture, and 
two vases of imitation flowers under glass 
shades. It had two gas lights, one without 
a globe. 

The commissaire left after a few whis- 
pered words of introduction. Madame 
Bassequin went into an adjoining room, 
informing me, as she went, that it was “pour 
pr&venir ces dames!' 

I could hear voices in this back room, 
which communicated with the one I was in 
by folding doors — evidently arranged so as 
to facilitate careful supervision of the guests 
madame so kindly received at times. One 
of the voices was Miss Simpkinsons ; the 


6o 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


other was a man’s — full, pleasant, sympa- 
thetic — an English voice. They were 
speaking English. This rather disconcerted 
me. I had hoped to be alone in the field. 
Miss Simpkinson had an Englishman with 
her. Who could that Englishman be ? 

I had sent in my card after penciling on 

it — 

“ A compatriot who believes he can be 
of great service.” 

I had perhaps not much right to hazard 
this supposition, but one pretext was as 
well as another. And I was of service 
after all, in the end, so it was a good thing, 
notwithstanding, that Dubert allowed me 
to go. 

The voices in the next room were dis- 
cussing the propriety of admitting me. 
“ Let me see him,” I heard the man say, 
and I was glad to hear the woman reply 
with firmness, “We may as well receive 
him together.” I pressed close to the 
folding doors to hear more, but at that mo- 
ment the mistress of the mansion returned. 


- THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 61 

With one bound I was in the middle of the 
room, but not quickly enough. Madame 
Bassequin arched her eyebrows in a know- 
ing manner, and smiled an evil ' little smile. 
“ I see you are of the mitier ,” she said ; 
a it is no use for me. They always speak 
English. I have demanded a man who 
understands the language, but he will be 
gone before he comes.” With this last 
enigmatical sentence madame seemed well 
pleased. She repeated it to herself as we 
walked down the passage. Then she 
opened the door, and ushered me in. 

The room was a fair-sized one, but un- 
comfortably furnished and dirty-looking. 
It cost the occupants, as L4on subsequently 
informed me, twenty-five francs per diem, 
and really, I think, for that price the anti- 
macassars might have been washed. There 
were three arms to the chandelier in this 
apartment (for gas was a handsome extra), 
so that every stain and cobweb seemed to 
stand out in the brilliant light ; and there 
was a big fire in the French grate, built up 


62 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


to consume the largest possible quantity of 
wood. The room was very hot in conse- 
quence. 

Miss Orr-Simpkinson sat on an old horse- 
hair sofa in the far corner, between the 
windows and the fireplace, and a gentleman 
stood by her side. The gas-lamps shone 
full in their faces. They were looking 
towards me with some surprise. 

I, on my side, took them in at a glance. 
At least I thought I did so. I liked the 
look of Miss Simpkinson all the more, now 
that I could examine her at my ease. She 
was still dressed in her dark, close-fitting 
traveling dress. Their luggage had been 
sequestrated, and the police only allowed 
her to have the most indispensable articles. 
But she looked neat, and compact, and 
energetic in the simple attire, with her 
beautiful black hair coiled closely round her 
head. She had great, dark, expressive 
eyes, which looked at you with a straight, 
strong look, and atoned for the irregularity 
of her features. She was not by any means 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 63 

handsome, strictly speaking, but she was as 
handsome as a commanding figure and fine 
eyes must always make a woman. I said 
to myself once more; I don’t believe she’s 
the kind of woman to commit a murder ; 
but she’s the kind of woman who would 
kill herself to defend the murderer — if she 
loved him. 

If I liked the look of Miss Simpkinson, I 
felt still more attracted, I must confess, by 
the gentleman who stood at her side. He 
wore the dress of a clergyman of the Estab- 
lished Church, and it greatly became him. 
He was a tall, slenderly-built man, with a 
young, close-shaven, fresh-colored face, a 
head of yellow hair, cropped short, and 
bright, honest, blue eyes, that had a child- 
like candor in them. He rested his hand 
on the back of Miss Simpkinson’s sofa, and 
I was glad to find her in such agreeable 
company, and so well protected. 

" Lovers,” I said to myself, “ no doubt. 
It must be her brother she’s shielding.” 

I must say, in my own self-defence, that 


64 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER , . 

I was angry with myself at the time for the 
obstinacy with which I stuck to my precon- 
ceived assumptions, in spite of conflicting 
appearances. 

We were alone. I had motioned Ma- 
dame Bassequin away. Miss Simpkinson 
began speaking, with a self-possession re- 
markable in one so young. She cannot have 
been more than twenty, and her compa- 
nion, I should say, may have been twenty- 
three. 

“ May I know,” said Miss Simpkinson, 
“what is the object of this visit, Mr.” — - 
she looked at the card I had sent in — 
“ Spence ? ” 

She turned her fine eyes to me interro- 
gatively. 

“ Certainly, madame,” I said, not without 
a little awkwardness. “ My name is Spence, 

of ’s private Inquiry Office, as you 

can see by the card. I happened to be 
present yesterday at — at the station. I 
thought that, perhaps, under the circum- 
stances, you might be requiring such ser- 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 65 

vices as our office is in the habit of render- 
ing. I speak French fluently, and am 
acquainted with some of the authorities 
engaged in this investigation.” 

Miss Simpkinson did not answer. The 
clergyman began speaking for her. He 
had a musical voice and a pleasant manner, 
and I liked him all the more. 

“ We may find your services valuable/’ 
he said. u At the present moment, in this 
terrible sorrow and confusion, we hardly 
know what to do or think. We can give 
no explanation of what has happened. If 
you can furnish us with one, we shall owe 
you a debt beyond all repayment.” 

u May I know,” I said, “ in how far you, 
sir, are interested or concerned in the mat- 
ter ? ” 

“ Certainly,” he replied. “ I am Mr. 
Harvey, — the Rev. Mr. Harvey, — and I am 
engaged to be married to this young lady, 
Miss Orr-Simpkinson.” 

Mr. Harvey ! I looked at the honest 

English gentleman before me, and felt that 
5 


66 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER 


my cardboard edifice was crumbling to the 
ground. 

“ I think, Edith,” said Mr. Harvey, 
turning to his engaged, “ that perhaps the 
wisest thing we can do is to take this 
gentleman into our confidence, whilst await- 
ing further advice.” 

“ Yes, Austin,” said Miss Simpkinson. 

Austin Harvey ! This, then, was the P. 
H. of all my wonderful combinations! 
Austin is a very pretty name. I called 
myself “ fool,” and “ blockhead,” under 
my breath ; and, I believe, could I have 
done so with decency, I should have got 
up and left the house and the case at that 
moment. At any rate, I must start on a 
fresh track. 

“ The charge against Miss Simpkinson 
and her mother is a preposterous one,” 
continued Mr. Harvey, addressing himself 
to me, “ and yet we must admit that we 
are the victims of most extraordinary cir- 
cumstances. When I was telegraphed for 
last night, I did not know what to expect. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 67 

I certainly had not expected this. And 
now I know neither what to expect nor 
what to believe.” 

“ The ladies have been arrested/' I said, 
u with nothing more or less than a corpse 
in their possession. That corpse was hid- 
den in a black box. The first question is, 
6 Was the box Miss Simpkinson’s ? ’ ” 

u Yes,” said Miss Simpkinson quickly — 
too quickly, I thought. 

“ My dear Edith — ” began the gentle- 
man. 

She stopped him with an imperious ges- 
ture. 

“ I tell you the box is mine, Austin. 
Ask Susan. It is not the slightest use your 
reopening the discussion. Whose could it 
be else ? ” 

“ Whose, indeed ? ” said Mr. Harvey, 
with an amusingly puzzled look. 

“ The second question then is,” I con- 
tinued, “ ‘ Who is the murdered person ? * 
Up till now the corpse has not been iden- 
tified.” 


68 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


“ That question I can answer/’ said Mr. 
Harvey, a sad look overshadowing* his 
pleasant face. “ I wish I could not. Miss 
Simpkinson could have answered it also, 
and, I think, was unwise in not at once 
giving the French authorities all desired 
information. Yes, Edith, that is another 
subject on which I must regretfully continue 
to differ with you.” 

“ But who is it ? ” I cried impatiently. 

“ From what Miss Simpkinson tells me, 
there cannot be the slightest doubt that the 
body is that of an aunt of mine,” answered 
the clergyman, walking up and down the 
room so as the better to conceal his emotion ; 
“ and, painful as the subject naturally is, I 
shall tell the police whatsoever they have a 
right to know.” 

Miss Simpkinson rose up and came for- 
ward. 

“ For Heaven’s sake ! ” she cried passion- 
ately, “ have mercy on us all and hold your 
peace.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 69 

“ Edith,” said the young clergyman, 
very softly and tenderly, as he drew her 
arm through his, “ you are wrong, dearest, 
you are wrong. There are moments in our 
lives when we hesitate, but usually we know 
only too clearly where the path of duty lies. 
I must speak, dearest. And besides, be 
sure of this, if I did not, others would.” 

He looked towards me. 

“ How long do you calculate the French 
police will take to find out without my 
help ? ” he said. 

“ They know the old lady’s initials,” I 
answered, “ and her probable place of 
abode, and the number and maker of her 
watch, and they have her clothes and purse 
— three days, I should say.” 

“ I can spare them the delay. My 
aunts name was Miss Elizabeth Raynell. 
She was unmarried, and resided at No. 13 
Upper Norton Crescent, Haverstock Hill. 
She had recently been staying at Southend 
for the benefit of her health, and it must 


70 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

have been there ” — his voice faltered 
slightly — “ that she met her death.” 

Miss Simpkinson dropped back on the 
sofa, and hid her face in her hands. 

“ I think you are right, sir,” I remarked, 
u if you will excuse my saying so, to help 
the police as much as is in your power. It 
is no use keeping back facts which must 
come to light sooner or later, and such 
action can only make worse what is alreadv 
— excuse my saying so — a very awkward 
predicament.” 

I was angry with Miss Simpkinson for 
her unreasonable behavior. 

She took her hands from her face. 

“ I know it,” she said. 

“ The murder was committed at South- 
end,” I went on ; “I knew that before I 
came here. Why was it committed ? ” 

There was a dead silence. The two 
lovers looked uneasily at each other. 

“ What right have you to question us ?* 
said Miss Simpkinson fiercely. 

I rose at once. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 71 

“ None,” I replied 5 “ nor any wish to do 
so. Only I thought you might be wishing 
to employ me. There’s murder, Miss, and 
some one’ll have to be punished for it. I’d 
as lief as any one it shouldn’t be you.” 

“ Punished ! ” cried the clergyman — 
“ murder — great heavens, Edith !” 

We stood gazing at each other, all three 
— he distressed, she defiant, I doubtful. 

“ Edith, Edith,” he repeated, “ you are 
beside yourself, poor darling. Ask what 
you will, sir, and help us what you can. 
We must let our own consciences be judges 
in how far we can answer. But we cannot 
tell you who did the murder, for we do not 
know, and we dare not tell you why we 
think it may perhaps have been done.” 

u Did you live with your aunt ? ” I 
asked. 

“ No,” he answered; “I am curate of 
St. Mary the Virgin’s, at Southend. It 
was chiefly on account of my living there 
that my aunt chose Southend, when her 
doctors recommended sea air.” 


72 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


“ Did she live alone ? ” 

“ Y es, with two servants — an old woman 
and a young girl.” 

“ They were not with her at the time ? ” 

“ No ; she had left them in London. 
She was staying in lodgings.” 

“And what was her address at South- 
end ? ” 

“ Do not tell him,” interposed Miss 
Simpkinson. 

“ My dear Edith! No. 17 Marine 
Parade.” 

I noted the address down in my pocket- 
book. Miss Simpkinson watched me 
uneasily. I could not understand her. 

“ Do you want the guilty person to be 
found out, ma’am ? ” I asked. 

“ No,” she said. 

“ Do you want to take his — or her — 
place ? ” 

She did not answer. I saw that I should 
not get much out of her. A sudden idea 
struck me. I resolved, before I left, to 
find out about the box. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


73 


“ Excuse my asking,” I said ; “ you live 
in Greenwich, do you not ? ” 

“No,” she replied shortly; “Tooting. 
The police have my address.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” I said, “ I thought 
it was Greenwich. Greenwich is a very 
pretty place, and pleasant to live in.” 

“It may be so,” replied Miss Simpkinson. 
“ I do not know. I have never been 
there.” 

That was all I wanted to know. I had 
not expected to gain the information so 
easily. 

“ At any rate,” I went on, “ the box with 
the body left Charing Cross yesterday 
morning. I do not deny that the box is 
yours, as you recognize it. Do you mean 
to say that you placed the body of the 
murdered woman in it ? ” 

She grew white at last. — to the very 
lips, — but she spoke in a firm voice. 

“ No,” she answered ; “ I do not say 
that.” 


74 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

“ Then do you mean to declare that you 
were present when another person did so ? ” 

“ I do not.” 

“ Then, if the box is yours, some one 
must have had access to it without your 
knowledge.” 

“ No. Since I bought the box, only 
four or five days ago, it has always stood 
in my room. My maid packed it yester- 
day morning. Ask her.” 

I said to myself, “ She is prevaricating. 
She is telling only half the truth. If her 
maid packed the box, it must have been 
yesterday morning, as she says, but then 
it was in the London hotel, for at South- 
end the maid was not with her. It is im- 
possible to find out, as yet, which is the 
truth and which is not. But her very 
falsehood will betray her.” 

tC You do not believe me?” she said. 
66 No matter. But I will swear that my 
box never left my room. How the body 
of poor Miss Raynell was ever placed in it, 
and by whom, the police must find out.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 75 

She cast a defiant look at her lover. 

“ They will find out,” I said quietly. 

My presence there was becoming useless, 
and even ridiculous. I walked towards 
the door. 

“ That box is not your box, Miss Simp- 
kinson,” I said, as I passed out. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


y6 


/ 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE “ TWIN-BOX ” THEORY. 

That parting thrust was, perhaps, a stupid 
and an unkind one, but it was a bit of 
revenge for all the young lady’s contrari- 
ness. Under a charge of murder — for- 
sooth ! A girl of twenty, belonging to 
genteel society, and as cool as a cucumber, 
and as cross as a Good-Friday bun. It 
was too bad. I could forgive her as long 
as I thought that some love affair might be 
mixed up in the business ; but now even 
that extenuation seemed altogether out of 
the question. I had no patience with her. 
She deserves to be hanged, I said to my- 
self. Not that I meant it. 

I had made quite sure about the box 
before I spoke. The black box, at present 
at the French police-station, had traveled 


THE BLACHE OX MURDER . 77 

from Greenwich to Southend — of that there 
could be no doubt ; the label I had dis- 
covered under the Paris one proved it. 
And if Miss Simpkinson had never been 
at Greenwich, and if the box, bought only 
four or five days ago, had never left Miss 
Simpkinson’s room, then Miss Simpkinson’s 
box could not be the Paris one. Miss 
Simpkinson had betrayed this to me her- 
self. 

But the maid had identified it. For this 
there could only be one explanation. 
There must be two boxes exactly similar, 
one belonging to Miss Simpkinson, one the 
property of a person as yet unknown, and 
these two boxes must have been inter- 
changed. But if so, Miss Simpkinson 
must have been privy to the transaction. 
Her manner showed that she knew about 
the second box and its owner, and it led 
one to infer that she knew about its con- 
tents before the box was opened. 

If so, this girl was the daring accomplice 
of a dangerous criminal. 


73 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

I could not believe it of the woman who 
had gained the affections of so charming 
and straightforward a man as Austin 
Harvey. But I could only repeat that she 
certainly was a liar, and she might be a 
good deal more; and I pitied the young 
clergyman from the bottom of my heart. 

I could now account for the difficulty 
about the keys. After careful thought, I 
came to the conclusion that Miss Simpkin- 
son had not known about the exchange of 
boxes till the examination took place at 
the custom-house. Her anxiety not to 
have the cord unfastened I explained away 
as only natural ; the expression “ likely to 
create suspicion,” I considered to have 
been used in a general way — “ unwar- 
ranted suspicion ” being meant. On the 
other hand, when the box was opened, she 
must, undoubtedly, have at once seized 
the situation, and understood its import. 
At that moment she must have recognized 
the guilty person, and resolved to shield 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 79 

him ; and most probably she must have 
understood the method of the crime. 

The murder had been committed by 
some near connection of the old lady's and 
of Mr. Harvey’s — probably by a relation. 
Both the young clergyman and Miss 
Simpkinson were anxious to shield him — 
he as far as conscience and honor would 
allow, she a good deal further. The differ- 
ence lay in their respective characters. 
What she was doing she was doubtless 
doing for her lover’s sake. 

I was puzzled still, but not ill-content. 
My visit had been more useful to me than 
I could have expected. It was irregular, 
if you like, and venturesome. So much 
the better in my profession. The diffi- 
culty about the keys was now explained. 
The boxes were similar, supplied by the 
same firm. The locks were different. 

The absence of the address-label would 
thus also be accounted for. 

But the absence of a label indicating the 


So 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


journey from Southend to London remained 
unexplained. 

The box had been at Southend. It had 
arrived there from Greenwich. Miss Simp- 
kinson’s box had also been at Southend. 
It had arrived there probably from Tooting-, 
or from the makers. When had they been 
exchanged ? And where ? How had the 
box with the corpse come up to Charing 
Cross ? If Miss Raynell had been mur- 
dered at Southend the night before the 
Simpkinsons started for the Continent, and 
if the Simpkinsons had spent that night at 
a London hotel, how could Miss Simpkin- 
son be implicated in the crime ? 

The first thing to be done next was to 
find out the original possessor of the Paris 
black box. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER, 


Si 


CHAPTER IX. 

Austin’s visit. 

I was sitting in my room next morning, 
writing out my report for my employers, 
when Mr. Harvey was announced. He 
looked troubled and careworn, as if after a 
sleepless night, and no wonder. We came 
to business at once. 

“ I have been thinking over your visit 
last night,” he said frankly, “and I feel that 
we owe you an apology. Miss Simpkin- 
son’s manner must seem strange to you, 
and even incomprehensible.” 

He hesitated. 

“It does not seem so strange to me as 
you might think,” I answered quietly ; “ I 
am accustomed, you must remember, to 
similar investigations.” 

6 


82 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

He looked a little disconcerted, but re- 
covered himself immediately. 

“ You came away, then,” he said, “ with 
a definite impression. Would it be asking 
too much to inquire of you what that 
impression is ? ” 

“ It is asking a good deal,” I said, “ and, 
in fact, it is hardly fair ; for you summon 
me to surrender what little advantage I 
may have gained, and you give me nothing 
in return.” 

“ That is true,” replied Mr. Harvey. 
“ Well, if you communicate your impression 
to me, I will undertake honestly to tell you 
whether it is a correct one.” 

“ Which is the correct one ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” he said quickly ; “ whether 
yours is the correct one. Y es, or no ? ” 

He looked straight into my eyes with an 
honest, appealing smile. I have never met 
a man with a more winning manner, and I 
felt my interest in Miss Simpkinson decreas- 
ing the more I was taken with sympathy 
for her unfortunate lover. 


THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 83 

“To my mind, there remains no doubt,” 
I said slowly, “ that there are two similar 
black boxes, and that both Miss Simpkin- 
son and yourself are perfectly well aware 
that the one now in the possession of the 
Paris police is not hers. At the same time, 
however, you both know who is the owner 
of this box which contained the corpse, and 
your one fear is that he should prove to be 
the murderer.” 

Austin Harvey flushed up. I had spoken 
carefully, watching him all the time. In 
the hot changes on his fresh, young face, I 
read the corroboration of my theory. I 
was right so far. 

“ You know a good deal,” he said, with 
a catch in his usually clear voice. 

“ Is my supposition not correct ? ” 

“ It is absolutely correct.” 

A few moments of silence followed. Mr. 
Harvey sat back in his chair, gazing into 
his clerical wide-awake. I watched him 
with a question hovering on my lips. He 


84 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

was honest, ingenuous, anxious to do right 
Why not chance it ? 

“ Who is the owner of the black box ? ” 
I said suddenly. 

I repented of my indiscretion imme- 
diately. The tall figure began to tremble 
from head to foot. The face twitched 
nervously, and the eyes grew hazy. He 
mastered himself with a visible effort. 

“ Shall I speak ? ” he said to himself. 

I felt the words more than I heard 
them. 

He got up and went to the window, and 
stood looking out on the busy boulevard. 
I understood, weeks afterwards, what 
thoughts must have agitated him at that 
moment. At last he spoke, in a toneless 
voice. 

“ No,” he said. u Duty cannot require 
me to answer that question. I am doing 
right to refuse.” 

He came back to me and assumed a more 
natural manner. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 85 

“ Y ou must distinguish,” he said, “ neither 
Miss Simpkinson nor I can be said to know 
anything with regard to the murder. We 
both only suspect. If I knew, I should 
consider it my duty to give all possible 
information to the Paris police at whatever 
cost. ,, He repeated these words mourn- 
fully. “ But we only suspect ; and the one 
prayer and expectation of our hearts is that 
our suspicion may prove to be false. Mat- 
ters standing thus, I have resolved to tell 
all I know and have known, but not all I 
have thought or still think. I believe it is 
a distinction I can fully reconcile with my 
conscience ; for it must be my duty in no 
way to retard the march of justice ; but it 
is no less my duty in this case not know- 
ingly to accelerate it, especially where — for 
all I know — justice may be wandering 
astray .” 

“ Miss Simpkinson/’ I said, “ goes far- 
ther.” 

u Miss Simpkinson must be judge of her 
own actions in the matter,” answered Mr. 


86 


THE BLACK’S OX MURDER. 


Harvey ; “ and we must make full allow- 
ance for the utter confusion of mind into 
which such events as those of the last 
twenty-four hours would naturally have 
thrown any young lady. She is not able, 
as yet, to think or speak coherently 

“ You must permit me to differ from you 
there,” said I ; “ she is quite able, more or 
less coherently, to delude the authorities by 
incorrect statements, and so the French 
police have found. If you are permitted 
to see her again, you had better advise her 
to be careful.” 

u Y ou do not mean to imply,” cried the 
clergyman, tC that Miss Simpkinson is in 
danger of any serious annoyance from the 
police ? ” 

“ She is in danger of a good deal more,” 
I said grimly. 

“Good heavens, it is maddening!” ex- 
claimed Austin Harvey. “ Heaven help 
us, what are we to do ? I cannot believe,” 
he went on, “ that this whole miserable 
business will injure Miss Simpkinson in 


THE BLACKBOX MURDER . 87 

any way. The idea is agony to me. I 
assure you, by all I hold most sacred, she 
is utterly innocent. ,, 

“ I do not deny it,” I replied ; “ but, if 
so, she is rapidly making an accomplice of 
herself, and accomplices are not innocent.” 

Poor fellow ! Till now he had kept up 
fairly well, but he was evidently terribly 
cut up at the idea of any harm befalling his 
sweetheart. 

“ What,” he said — Ci what would you 
have her to do ? ” 

“ Let her do as you are doing/’ I an- 
swered roughly. “ No falsehoods, no sup- 
positions, and plain answers where a plain 
answer is due.” 

He clasped my hand. 

“ That is right,” he said earnestly. “ We 
will pull her out of this. I will go to her at 
once and tell her what you say. Nonsense ; 
they must admit her innocence soon, and 
you must help me to prove it. It is for 
that object I came here. I wish you to 
investigate this case on my behalf, keeping 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

an eye on the police. You must find out 
what they find out — and more, if you can. 
We must learn who did the deed. You 
v ill communicate all you discover, or think 
you discover, to me, and I only hope that 
year investigations will give my suspicions 
the lie.” 

“ Do I understand, sir,” I said, “ that you 
r< : li me professionally in this case? If 
1 is so, I must communicate with my 

employers.” 

“ Do so without loss of time.” 

“ I am not free at this moment, but any 
other man can take my place here. In a 
case of such importance as this — ” I bowed, 
v. >ut finishing my sentence. Austin 
ey took up his hat. He fingered it a 
awkwardly. 

There is one more thing I should like 
ask you before leaving,” he said, with 
some hesitation ; “ I am a poor man, and 
perhaps it would be wiser to understand 
before beginning ” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER, 89 

“ The terms,” I interrupted promptly. 
(I always cut this subject short.) “ Em- 
ployers will forward prospectus. Will be 
found very reasonable, I do not doubt, sir/’ 
and I bowed him out. 

He passed on to the landing, and I fol- 
lowed him. He went downstairs very 
slowly, like a man in deep thought. I 
stood watching him at the top of the stair- 
case. At a turn of the stairs he slackened 
his pace still more, and, half mechanically, 
as it seemed to me, drew a white pocket- 
handkerchief out of his breast-coat-pocket 
and passed it softly over his eyes. As he 
drew this handkerchief from his overcoat, 
a grey envelope came with it, and fell to 
the ground with a faint thud. I heard the 
slight noise where I stood — a dozen steps 
higher up, — but the clergyman did not 
seem to notice it. He went on slowly 
descending the stairs. 

I checked a first impulse to call after 
him, and held my breath. A letter ! Who 


9 o THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

knows what it might tell ! I stood watch- 
ing — waiting. 

Mr. Harvey did not turn. 

I covered the precious grey scrap with 
my eyes, gloating over it as if I could 
attract it towards me, or hide it from sight. 
Supposing he were to miss it ? 

How plain it showed against the crimson 
hotel carpet ! Supposing some one were 
to come running upstairs and call out ! A 
waiter, for instance ! All this in the flash 
of the moment ! I dared not move to- 
wards it, lest the movement should make 
him turn his head. 

He put his hand to his breast-pocket, 
and I gave myself up for lost. But it was 
only to arrange his handkerchief. 

He turned the corner into the vestibule, 
and at that same moment I was down, with 
my hand over the prize — like a vulture, at 
one fell swoop. 

I rushed up to my room and locked my- 
self in. I laid down the envelope on the 
table. It was a square envelope, of grey- 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 91 

tinted paper, sent by post from Dover, and 
addressed to the Revd. Austin Harvey, at 
the Hotel de la Paix, Paris. 

Would it prove to be an empty envelope, 
or did it contain the letter still ? 

By the feel of the thing, it was not 
empty. I turned it round, and, with trem- 
bling fingers, touched a paper inside. This 
paper would put me on the right track. 
I had somehow believed that from the 
first. 

I drew it out and unfolded it. The let- 
ter began, “ My dear Austin.” I turned 
hastily to the signature over the page, and 
read “ Philip.” 

I had barely found time to glance over 
the contents when an impatient knock came 
to my door. I hurriedly flung the letter 
into a drawer and locked it. Then I threw 
off my coat as a suitable pretext for having 
the door locked, and went in my shirt- 
sleeves to see who was there. 

It was Mr. Harvey come back. He 
pushed me into the room and entered it 


92 THE BLACHE OX MURDER . 

with me, before I knew what he was doing. 
His look and manner betrayed extreme 
agitation. “ I dropped a letter just now,” 
he said ; “ I must have it back again.” 

“ Well ? ” I said quietly. 

“ I must have it back again, I tell you. 
I am convinced I dropped it on the stairs. 
You were standing on the landing. You 
must have seen me drop it.” 

<s I shan’t tell any lies about it,” I said ; 
“ I did.” 

“ And you have got it ? ” 

“ I have.” 

“ That’s all right. Then let me have it 
back, immediately. Sorry to have troubled 
you.” 

“ That’s a different story,” I said ; “ I 
fear I can’t let you have that letter back 
again, Mr. Harvey.” 

“ Can’t let me have it back again ? 
What do you mean ? Why not ? ” 

Ci I must reserve it, sir, as evidence.” 

“ Nonsense; you have no right to touch 


THE BLACHE OX MURDER. 93 

it. It is private correspondence. It lies 
beyond your competence altogether.” 

“ I have not yet read it, sir ; but I have 
seen quite enough of the contents to know 
that it is of the very greatest importance. 
If I am to act for you, I must keep that 

letter, and if I am not to act for you ” 

“ Well ? ” 

“ I must hand it over to the police.” 

“In any case, you refuse to restore it to 
me r 

Ct I refuse to restore it to you.” 

In another moment we were rolling - on 

o 

the floor together. The clergyman had 
made a rush at me and upset me, and in 
falling I had brought him down also. I 
was entirely taken by surprise. I had \ 
expected anything of this kind from a 
of his cloth or his manner, but he was 
evidently desperate, and resolved to regai t 
possession of the letter by fair means or 
foul. 

I was resolved to retain it — by foul 
means or fair. 


94 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

6i You have it on you,” he said, between 
his teeth, “ and I’ll throttle you to get it.” 

We rolled together on the floor, kicking 
up a terrible row against the furniture. I 
was in terror lest the waiters should come 
running up. Fortunately my room was in 
a back wing, and the struggle only lasted 
for a moment. I found the clergyman’s 
strength giving out much quicker than I 
should have expected from a man of his 
athletic build. After the first fierce on- 
slaught, he seemed to have no staying 
power. I went at him with redoubled 
energy, and got his hands away from my 
throat. In another minute I was up, 
breathless, with the table between us. 

“ That’s failed, sir,” I gasped. “ Give it 
up. You won’t get the letter. We shall 
have the waiters up in another minute. 
Better make yourself scarce before they 
come.” 

He stood by the door, looking unde- 
cided. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 95 

tC With, or against ? ” I asked. “ Which 
will you have ? ” 

u I don’t know,” he stammered. “ Wait 
till I write. Don’t do anything till I 
write.” 

I agreed to this, and he went out. He 
was barely gone when a waiter came hover- 
ing about the door, knocking and looking 
very anxious for some further information. 

“ I have been moving that sofa to the 
window,” I said , Ci to try the light. But I 
think it is best as it is.” 


96 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


CHAPTER X. 

THE LETTER. 

I went and got the precious letter out, and 
laid it on the table before me. But I 
locked my door again first, lest the impe- 
tuous clergyman should take it into his 
head to pounce back on me once more. I 
read the letter through most carefully, and 
then I read it through again. I could not 
realize that it was a genuine document, 
and that I now actually found myself in 
possession of the facts it contained. It 
seemed to me almost as if I must be 
making them up. 

The contents of this remarkable letter 
were as follow : — 

“ My dear Austin, — I am desperate. I do not 
know what to do. You must help me. Through 
some mistake or other of the porters, my box must 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


97 


have been exchanged with Miss Simpkinson’s when 
we left Charing Cross together yesterday. You 
know they are similar, and the luggage was all mixed 
up in the rush. Austin, she may not open my box . 
If she does, I am a lost man. I have telegraphed to 
you at Southend ; they telegraphed me you were in 
Paris. Why ? What is wrong ? I do not know her 
Paris address. Keep her from my trunk, for 
Heaven’s sake. Send it back to me. I am sending 
you hers. Let me have it instantly. I shall wait 
for it at the same place, the old Nigger’s. — Yours, in 
the greatest anxiety, 

“ Philip. 

“ P.S . — Send back the trunk immediately. She 
must not see it. Help me.” 

Here, then, was full corroboration of my 
theory, which Austin Harvey had already 
pronounced to be correct. And from this 
information it would appear that it was by 
accident the interchange had taken place, 
not as the result of any fixed design. How 
strange are the ways of Providence, espe- 
cially with regard to the detection of crime. 
A crowd at the station, a little confusion 
with the luggage, a custom-house exami- 


98 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

nation — that is all, and a whole carefully- 
built-up plot comes crashing down. 

Thus I ruminated complacently, thinking 
I had .now explained the difficulty and 
discovered the necessary clue, while, in 
reality, I was as far from the truth as ever, 
as the reader will see for himself, if he has 
the patience to accompany me to the end 
of this extraordinary story. 

The name of the man to whom the box 
belonged was 66 Philip 

I took from my pocket-book the scrap 
of paper on which I had drawn the fac- 
simile of the letters “ P. H.” which I had 
found on the white 66 Greenwich to South- 
end ” label. 

I laid it down on the table next to the 
letter, and carefully compared the P of the 
signature to the P of the fac-simile. 

There they lay, side by side. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


99 


When I looked at them thus, there was 
no doubt in my mind that the Philip of the 
letter was the “ P ” of the label. I next 
looked for a capital H in the letter. Here 
was one in “ Heaven’s,” and here was 
another in “ Help.” I placed them next to 
each other. 

I had no difficulty about filling in the 
surname. The name of the writer of the 
letter was Philip Harvey. The name of 
the owner of the black box was Philip 
Harvey. He was a near relation of Austin 
Harvey ; and he was the probable mur- 
derer of Miss Raynell. 

I considered I had good reason to be 
satisfied with the progress I had made 
since the day before yesterday.’ The 
crime had been committed, presumably, 
on Sunday night. I had first heard of it on 
Monday at 6.30 p.m. This was Wednes- 


IOO 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


day morning. Not forty-eight hours, then, 
has elapsed since I had come across it. 
At that time I knew nothing. Now I had 
learnt the name of the victim, the place of 
the murder, many of the circumstances 
immediately subsequent to the deed, and 
even the name and temporary place of 
abode of the probable criminal. 

It was now evident to me that Miss 
Simpkinson’s first knowledge of the crime 
must have been received when the box — 
which she wrongly believed to be her own 
— was opened at the railway station. At 
that moment she must have instantly 
realized either that the box was not hers, 
or that it had been tampered with. What 
indications she possessed which would 
immediately point her to the true assassin, 
I had no means of determining. She had 
evidently concluded aright, and her first 
impulse had been to screen a member of 
her lovers family — his brother, very pos- 
sibly. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. iol 

A girl of considerable fortitude, this. 
But I must say I prefer the mothers 
screams and fainting fits. They seem 
more natural. 

The question which now came up fore- 
most, waiting to be grappled with, was, of 
course, this, “ How and why was the deed 
done ? ” 

That question must be answered in 
England. It must be answered, if possible, 
by Mr. Philip Harvey. 

I telegraphed to my employers, and 
made arrangements for leaving Paris that 
night. Any bungling young novice could 
take charge of the two children at the 
Grand Hotel. I intended to cross over to 
London first, there to see my employers, 
and to make sure of the trunk, and then to 
go down to Dover, and commence opera- 
tions there. Philip Harvey now became 
the central point of all my cogitations. 
Philip ! I must find him out and learn 
more about him. And I must get hold of 
the man before his brother found time and 


102 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


opportunity to bid him fly. Good heavens ! 
had he not already been able to do that ? 

I rushed over to England. Never has 
there been so slow a train — never so sea- 
sick and storm-tossed a vessel. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


103 


CHAPTER XI. 

AT THE TRUNKMAKER’s. 

As soon as I had reached London, and 
spoken to my employers, I began the 
further investigation of the Black-Box 
Murder. The discovery at the Gare du 
Nord had taken place on Monday evening, 
as I have just said. I left Paris on Thurs- 
day morning, another man having come 
out by the Wednesday night-boat to take 
my place. 

Before starting, I received the following 
note from Austin Harvey. He sent it me 
by post, — 

“ Sir, — I was beside myself this morning, and 
behaved like a madman. I can only explain and 
excuse my conduct by reference to the terrible posi- 
tion in which I am so unexpectedly placed. You 
will take into account, and make all allowance. I 
must beg you — in spite of my rudeness — to continue 


104 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


your investigation. Anything is preferable to this 
horrible uncertainty. I shall remain, till further 
notice, at the Hotel de la Paix. — Yours, etc., 

“Austin Harvey.” 

Poor fellow ! Was it possible to make 
amends in a more frank and honorable 
manner ? I could indeed forgive him 
what little injury he had done me, for, if 
my surmises were correct, his position was 
truly a most awful one. 

On Friday morning, at an early hour, 
before customers would be arriving, I 
walked across to the place of business of 
Messrs. Browne & Elder, trunkmakers, 
etc., 1 17 Cheapside. I asked to see one 
of the members of the firm, and sent in my 
card. Before taking any other steps, I felt 
I must try to make myself quite certain of 
the actual existence of the “ Philip Harvey ” 
whom I had manufactured out of the 
“ Philip ” of Austin Harvey’s letter. 

I was admitted into a little office, and 
received by a Mr. Elder, a complacent, 
substantial business man, barely past 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


105 

middle age. Evidently a prosperous con- 
cern, this trunkmaking business. So much 
the better. The larger the trade, the 
more accurate the book-keeping. I should 
probably be able to obtain the information 
I was in search of. 

I had hesitated for a moment, on my 
way to the place, whether I should present 
myself as an intending customer, recom- 
mended by Mr. Harvey, or openly ask for 
the help I required in my quality as a 
detective. I chose the latter alternative, 
because it was the simpler. During my 
detective career, when in doubt, I always 
chose the simplest way. 

I described the black box I had seen at 
Paris as accurately as I could. Mr. Elder 
at once recognized the article. 

“ Those boxes are a specialty of ours,” 
he said. “ They were designed to supply 
a special want. They are very strong, 
very plain, and very inexpensive. They 
are hardly intended to carry articles of 
clothing, although, of course, they could be 


io6 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

used for that also. But they are especially 
suitable for books, or shooting and fishing 
apparatus, or any of the thousand odds 
and ends which people cannot pack in with 
their wearing apparel. Many travelers 
stand in need of an extra receptacle of that 
kind, and our boxes come in very useful at 
the price we are able to charge for them. 
We sell a great many.” 

“ I am glad to hear that,” I said politely, 
u although it will make my request for 
assistance all the more troublesome. Might 
I ask, do you make them in various 
sizes ? ” 

“ We do. There are three sizes. I will 
let you see them.” 

We went into the show-room. There* 
stood, in a prominent position, three boxes, 
made exactly like the one I had seen in 
Francis Dubert’s police-station, only of 
different dimensions. I immediately select- 
ed the medium one. 

tc That is the box I am in search of,” I 
said, “ and all that I want to know is, have 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 107 

you sold such a box recently to a Miss Orr- 
Simpkinson, and another, probably some 
time before, to a Mr. Harvey ? ” 

“ As for the first half of your question, I 
can answer that immediately — can answer 
it from memory,” said Mr. Elder, without 
a moment’s hesitation. We sold a box 
about a week ago to a lady of that 
name at Southend. I remember her writ- 
ing about it, describing what she wanted, 
and saying that a gentleman had recom- 
mended us. I can show you the letter.” 

He stalked off to a file hanging in his 
office, and, after a little searching, and one 
or two exclamations — such as, “ That’s it ! ” 
“ No, it’s not!” and so on — produced a 
sheet of notepaper, which he triumphantly 
laid on the table. 

It was a short note from Miss Simpkin- 
son, dated from Southend, stating that the 
lady desired to have one of Messrs. Browne 
& Elder’s plain black boxes, size No. 2 — 
thirty shillings — recommended by a gentle- 
man who had recently purchased one. The 


108 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

letter was barely ten days old. A cheque 
for the amount due had been enclosed, as 
shown by the postscript. A second post- 
script — rather a superfluous one, it seemed 
to me — stated that Miss Simpkinson re- 
quired the box for packing photographic 
apparatus.” 

“ That proves one half,” I said — “ but 
by far the least important half. Now, as 
to Mr. Harvey. Can you also help me — 
if only half as well — with regard to the box 
purchased by a Mr. Harvey ? ” 

“ Harvey, Harvey,” said the trunkmaker, 
passing a capacious hand over a fat fore- 
head. “ That must be some time back. 
I do not remember the name.” 

He turned to a bulky ledger lying on the 
table, and began looking over the pages. 
He ran his Anger rapidly down the long list 
of names. I stood watching anxiously. As 
for Miss Simpkinson’s purchase, that was 
of very little importance ; I knew enough 
of it already. But to And out the existence, 
perhaps the address, of the possessor of 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 109 

the second black box — that was altogether 
a different matter. 

Mr. Elder knitted his eyebrows. 

“ The names not here,” he said. “ It 
must have been last year.’ 

He took down another unwieldy vol- 
ume, and began hurrying through it in the 
same way. Suddenly his face brightened. 

“ Here’s a Mr. Harvey,” he said. 

My heart gave a great leap. He pushed 
the book towards me, and showed me the 
entry. A black box, size No. i, had been 
sold fifteen months ago to a Mr. John Har- 
vey, a ship’s surgeon, and sent to him on 
board ship at Southampton. 

“ That’s not the man,” I said ; but I 
noted down the fact, all the same. In my 
mind, however, I dismissed the ship’s sur- 
geon at once. Besides, the box in Paris 
was a No. 2. 

Mr. Elder most obligingly looked through 
another half year, and then closed the 
volume. 


no 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


“ I need go no further back,” he said, 
“ for we brought out the boxes about that 
time. They have not been in the market 
for more than a year and a half.” 

I thanked him rather half-heartedly. I 
wondered to myself whether he could have 
missed the entry. It was hardly probable. 

“ Can you distinguish the boxes ? ” I 
asked. “ Have they all different keys ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” he answered, “ they all have 
different keys. We never allow two similar 
keys to leave our premises on any account. 
In fact, the chief expense of the black 
boxes — cheap as they are — is the excellent 
lock we supply with them. We number 
all our keys. I could put my finger on 
any given number at once, in case of a cus- 
tomer’s writing to have his key replaced.” 

“ Do you number the keys ? ” I asked, 
“ or the lock ? ” 

“ The key — the key only. It would 
hardly be safe to number the lock.” 

That explained my seeing no number. 
I think I should hardly have overlooked it. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


ill 


But all this was provokingly useless to me 
now. 

I had no pretext for prolonging my visit. 
I thanked Mr. Elder for his kindness, and 
took my leave. As for my Philip Harvey, 
he seemed to have grown a very mythical 
personage. None the less, I could not get 
the similarity of the P. H. and the hand- 
writing of the letter out of my head. It 
was too extraordinary a coincidence. The 
only advantage I had derived from my 
visit to the trunkmaker was that I had 
obtained Miss Simpkinsons Southend 
address. 


1 12 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE CRUMPLED CARD. 

I left Messrs. Browne & Elders premises 
in rather a dejected state. Perhaps I was 
unreasonably dejected. 

I had built too implicitly on the “ Philip 
Harvey ” theory, and now I could not deny 
to myself that, after all, I had no proof, 
absolutely no proof, of the existence of such 
a person. 

All the same, I felt that he did exist, and 
that, somehow, I must get hold of evidence 
of his existence, and of his whereabouts. I 
had obtained possession of Miss Simpkin- 
son’s Southend address — 23 Marine Parade, 
She must have lived only a few houses off 
from Miss Raynell, for that unfortunate 
lady, as Mr. Harvey had told me, had 
occupied apartments at No. 17. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 113 

I started for Southend that afternoon. 

In the train I mused gloomily on the 
case. My entire view of it rested on the 
assumption that the black box which had 
contained the corpse belonged to a Mr. 
Philip Harvey, but I had no other proof of 
the existence of such a person than the P. 
H. faintly scrawled in a corner of the lug- 
gage-label I had discovered, and the letter 
to Austin from some Philip, surname un- 
known. I had to admit that this was not 
much. 

As soon as I reached Southend, I went 
l:o No. 23. It was an ordinary lodging- 
house, exactly like all lodging-houses at all 
English seaside places. There was a frame 
with Ci Apartments ” over the hall door, 
but there was no card with “ To let ” in any 
of the windows. Presumably the landlady’s 
house was full. 

I rang and knocked boldly, all the same. 
The worthy in question presently appeared, 
peeping over the banisters, and trying to 


8 


H4 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


attract the attention of a certain Sally down 
below in a loud whisper. 

Sally — probably a maid-of-all-work — 
refused, however, to come to her mistress 
assistance, and so, ultimately, that lady 
descended and came across the little hall 
to the open door in a would-be dignified 
manner. 

“ And what might you be pleased to 
require, sir ? ” said the landlady, whose 
name, by-the-bye, as I soon learned, was 
Mrs. Bunbury. Poor Mrs. Bunbury ! If 
she is still alive, I hereby warmly recom- 
mend her rooms. 

“ I am looking for apartments, madam,” 
I answered, “ and I thought that perhaps 
you ” 

“ My house is quite full,” said Mrs. Bun- 
bury, shortly. 

I often wonder whether there is any- 
where in all the world as great a difference 
between animals of the same species as 
that which exists between the hotel-keeper 
who has one room open, and the hotel- 
keeper who has none to spare. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


”5 


c{ I am sorry for that,” I remarked coolly, 
“ I had heard of your rooms. I think you 
had a Mrs. Orr-Simpkinson staying here 
for the last three weeks ? ” 

“Yes, sir, I had,” said Mrs. Bunbury. 
She evidently ‘did not belong to the loqua- 
cious class of landladies. 

“ Pleasant lodgers, were they not ? ” 
“Well, sir, that may be as it may be,” 
said Mrs. Bunbury, pursing up her lips. 
“ I don’t say they were not, and I don’t 
say they were. I’ve seen better, and I’ve 
seen worse. The young lady were good. 
She give no trouble, though she were some- 
what peculiar. But as for the old one, she 
were what they call ‘ nervous,’ when peo- 
ple’s rich. When people’s poor they call 
it short in your temper.” 

This was a long speech for Mrs. Bun- 
bury, and — having made it — she shut up 
her mouth with a snap. 

“ And so you have let their rooms al- 
ready,” I remarked suavely. “ I am sorry 


lie THE BLACHE OX MURDER. 

for that — at least for my own sake” — 
which was quite true, for I had wanted to 
see them, and had hoped, besides, to find 
a chattering proprietress, eager to tell all 
she knew. Decidedly I had no luck this 
time. 

“ Y es, they’re let,” said Mrs. Bunbury., 
u And will not be vacant for some time ? ” 
a They’re let for the next fortnight to a 
party as is coming down from London,” 
said Mrs. Bunbury. “ It’s not much, one 
fortnight, but my rooms are never vacant 
long.” 

“ Only a fortnight!” I cried quickly. 
“ And I could have them after that ? That 
might be made to suit, perhaps. But I 
should have liked to see them.” 

“ Oh, you can see them, sir,” said Mrs. 
Bunbury, unbending very considerably. 
“ The party as I was speaking of don’t 
come in till to-morrow, and Mrs. Simpkin- 
son left last Monday. You can certainly 
see the rooms.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER , . 


117 


She stepped aside and invited me to 
enter, with a contortion of the face which 
was intended to be pleasing. 

“ No, really,” I expostulated, “ 1 cannot 
trouble you. Now, if you would let a maid 
show me the ’apartments — ” I hoped to 
find the servant more ready to talk than the 
mistress. 

“ I prefer to show them myself,” said 
Mrs. Bunbury. 

But I made one more attempt. It is 
true that you can make every one do just 
what you like by playing on his vanity, if 
you care to. 

“ No, no, my dear madam,” I exclaimed, 
“ I really cannot allow you. I must beg 
of you. If you keep a girl, let your girl go 
up with me. That is all I require.” 

“ If you keep a girl, indeed ! ” 

From that moment Mrs. Bunbury’s one 
idea was to let me see what sort of a maid 
she had. She rang the door bell, and — 
this proving futile — again screamed for 
Sally. 


nS THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

At last Sally appeared, very red about 
the face, but, wondrous to relate — very 
neat about the hair. Mrs. Bunbury was a 
woman who knew how to manage her 
household. Sally preceded me upstairs, 
and Mrs. Bunbury retired majestically to 
her private sitting-room. 

The lodgings were like any other lodgn 
ings. There was nothing in them that 
looked as if it ever had been, or ever could 
be, of the faintest interest to any one. The 
prim furniture stood exactly where you 
would expect it to stand, and looked as 
tiresome and impersonal as you would 
expect it to look. The table was empty 
but for a little hand-bell, placed exactly in 
the middle. The mantelpiece showed a 
gilt clock, a pair of bright vases, and a pair 
of thin candlesticks in a regimental line. 
Everything was tidy and neatly brushed. 
Superfluities there were none. 

I was turning away in despair, — not that 
I had expected anything in particular, but 
you are always on the look-out for the 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 119 

unexpected in the detective profession, — 
when my eyes fell on the grate. It was an 
ordinary grate, very cold-looking at this 
time of the year, with a heap of coals neatly 
arranged on wood and paper. The coals 
were dusty, — they had evidently lain there 
for some time, — and a few paper scraps had 
been thrown on top of them. 

These paper scraps were worth picking 
up, at anyrate. They might contain noth- 
ing, and they might be of use. Who could 
tell ? 

But how to get at them with the girl 
staring at me ? She had probably received 
the strictest orders never to quit intending 
tenants under any pretence. 

I took a shilling out of my waistcoat 
pocket, and held it towards the maid. 

“ Here’s for your trouble, my good girl,” 
1 said. 

As she stretched out her red hand, I 
dropped the coin, then stumbled as it fell, 
and deliberately kicked it under a chest of 


120 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


drawers. The thing was clumsily done, 
but it attained my object. 

The girl looked longingly in the direction 
in which the shilling had disappeared. 

“We must get it out,” I said. “The 
tongs are too big. Run for my umbrella ; 
it’s in the hall downstairs.” 

Sally disappeared, and in a moment I had 
snatched the odd scraps of paper off the 
coals. Two or three of them, I saw at a 
glance, were remnants of torn-up trades- 
men’s cards ; one was a private visiting- 
card, with something scribbled at the back. 
It was doubled in two. I opened it, and 
read the name — 

Mr. Philip Harvey. 

I turned the card. On the back was 
scrawled : “ At 2.30, then. How jolly ! ” 

I saw immediately that the “ H ” of 
“How jolly” was exactly similar to the 
“ H’s ” in the letter signed “ Philip,” and 
also, as I then thought, to the “ H ” on the 
luggage-label. I made a mistake as to 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER , . 


121 


this latter item, but I still think it was a 
pardonable one. 

The maid came running back with my 
umbrella, and I hurriedly put the scraps of 
paper into my pocket. 

Philip Harvey was a reality, then, after 
all. 

I questioned the maid about the lodgers 
while we fished for the shilling, and found 
her quite willing to talk, if only she had 
something to tell. 

“ Y es, the two ladies had stayed there 
three weeks, and was haffable ; only the 
holder one did 'ate to ring twice, and used 
to go into the most hawful tantrums, has if 
a poor girl 'ad four legs to 'er body. No, 
there didn’t use to come very many people 
to see 'em, 'cos they didn’t know many 
people in Southend ; but a hold lady came 
wunst, what looked fearful cross, with white 
’air and a wicked hold face " — there, there, 
my good Sally, the old lady is dead ; de 
mortuis nil nisi bonum , you know — “and 
the two gents as was alius a-coming.” 


122 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


“ What two gents ? ” 

“ Why, the clergyman and t’other one— 
his brother. Pleasant spoken gent, the 
clergyman. They was ’ere as much as 
’arf-a-dozen times a day sometimes. And 
Miss Simpkinson — well ” — Sally looked 
volumes — “ Miss Simpkinson was engaged 
to the clergyman,” said Sally, in a most 
meaning way. 

I could not get out of her what she 
meant. <c Miss Simpkinson was engaged to 
the clergyman,” said Sally. 

I should have learned a good deal more, 
perhaps, had Mrs. Bunbury not come 
shuffling about the hall. 

“ There’s missis,” said Sally, who had 
recovered her shilling. “ Don’t you think 
we’d better go down again now, sir ? ” 

She ran off as she spoke, and I was 
obliged to follow her. On the landing I 
still obtained a hurried description of the 
two gentlemen who used to call. I recog- 
nized the one immediately as Austin 
Harvey. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 123 

“ The other was like him, rather, but 
thinner and sallower, and looked, between 
you and me, as if he’d led a bit of a wild 
life, sir. That was Mr. Philip, sir ; and he 
wasn’t a bad-looking chap either.” 

“The rooms are excellent, madam,” I 
said to the landlady, who stood waiting 
impatiently in the hall downstairs, “ and 
just suitable, I should think ;” and I talked 
about the terms with her, and found those 
suitable too. 

Mrs. Bunbury was very anxious to know 
the name of her intending lodger. 

“ Spence,” I said. “ Mr. Spence, from 
London.” 

I do not deal in aliases ; they always 
get you into trouble. I took one, once for 
all, thirty years ago, to spare the feelings 
of an honored father, and I have stuck to 
that ever since. It is more my own name 
than an alias now. 


X24 


the black-box murder. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE SCENE OF THE MURDER. 

From No. 23 I went to No. 17, as soon as 
I was sure Mrs. Bunbury had given up 
watching me down the street. I had to go 
through a repetition of the same comedy at 
No. 1 7. I asked for apartments, of course. 
No. 17 possessed a loquacious landlady, a 
very old woman, half blind, and consi- 
derably more than half deaf, whose deaf- 
ness, however, had by no means marred 
her loquacity. Like so many of her class, 
she had seen “ better days,” and she 
mournfully rejoiced in the 'recollection of 
them. Those better days are often of a 
most mysterious goodness, and the worse 
the present moment seems to be, the 
brighter doth that better past become in 
the memory and on the lips of the unfortu- 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


125 


nate. The landlady’s name was Mrs. 
Jessop. Her husband had been a clergy- 
man. 

I was surprised to hear that Miss Ray- 
nell’s rooms were not to be let. I was still 
more surprised to hear — in fact, I could 
not suppress a slight shiver — that Miss 
Raynell was still occupying them. 

“ She has gone up to London for a day 
or two,” said Mrs. Jessop, “but I expect 
her back in the course of the week.” 

Poor old lady ! She had gone up to 
London, indeed. Mrs. Jessop told me all 
I wanted to know about her lodgers, and 
even a good deal more, which is saying 
much for a detective. She had a most 
irritating, affected little cough, which came 
up between every bunch of half-a-dozen 
words, and hooked them together and on 
to the next batch. It was a nervous 
cough. Probably her deafness prevented 
her hearing it. Perhaps it was one of the 
genteel appurtenances she had saved out 
of the wreck of her former days. 


126 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


“ No, the rooms are not disengaged/* 
said Mrs. Jessop. u The lady who oc- 
cupies them — h’m h’m — has gone up to 
London for a week. You appear to know 
her, sir, so you will not be surprised at my 
saying that Miss Raynell — with all her 
good qualities — is — h’m h’m — very pe- 
culiar. She does not like to be — h’m — 
intruded on, as she calls it. Not that I 
ever intruded on any one,” Mrs. Jessop 
continued, with a toss of her head, “ but I 
have never shunned the society of my 
equals. Miss Raynell appears to do so. 
And she cannot complain that, once this 
being hinted — merely hinted , you may be 
sure, — she got too much of mine. I should 
have — h’m h’m — scorned to impose it. I 
have known better days, sir, and I am well 
aware that no lady would impose — h’m — • 
her society on any other lady.” 

I began to understand that Miss Ray- 
nell, whether she was peculiar or not, must 
have found Mrs. Jessop a nuisance. I cut 
off the overflow by asking if Miss Raynell 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


127 


had her nephews with her. I had to call 
out the question once or twice. Decidedly, 
the old woman was very deaf. 

“ Her nephews,” said the landlady, 
“were with her a good deal off and on. 
The eldest was, as you are perhaps aware 
— h’m — at the church of Mary the Virgin 
— not a church I should care to attend, sir. 
My people have never countenanced 
popish practices, and my dear husband 
used to say ” 

“ And Philip ? ” I interrupted. I could 
not help it. “ C etait plus fort que moi ,” 
as the French say. 

“ Philip — h’m — as I believe the young 
man was called, rather a — h’m — wild young 
man, I should say, only that no young men 
are considered wild now-a-days. Philip 
has a small room here, which he occupies 
sometimes, next to the old lady’s. He’s 
here off and on. He doesn’t — h’m — get 
on too well with his aunt. She is — h’m— 
peculiar, and not always pleasant spoken 
to her elder nephew, who is, I believe, a 


128 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


most estimable young man, in spite of his 
papistical proclivities. But — h’m — as my 
dear husband used to say ’ 

“ Has Mr. Philip Harvey been here since 
his aunt left, Mrs. Jessop ? ’’ 

“ He has not, sir. The rooms are — h’m 
— not being used for the moment. Would 
you like to see them ? They are — h’m — 
as good as any rooms in Southend.” 

I acquiesced with alacrity. There was 
a pleasant bay-windowed front room on the 
ground floor. Behind this was a good- 
sized bedroom, with a little chamber com- 
municating with it. 

“ The rooms are just as Miss Raynell 
left them,” said Mrs. Jessop. “ She started 
on Monday morning without as much as 
saying — h’m — good-bye — just walked out 
of the house at an unearthly hour, and left 
a scrap of a note — h’m — on her sitting- 
room table.” 

“ Mrs. Jessop,” I said, confronting her in 
the bow-window. “ I have not come here 
to look for apartments. I am a detective 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


129 


— a private detective from London. Miss 
Raynell is peculiar, as you say. Yes, she 
is decidedly peculiar. She has gone up to 
London without informing her nephews of 
her whereabouts. Of course it is all right, 
but they are naturally anxious, none the 
less, lest anything should befall her. Mr. 
Austin Harvey has requested me to take 
the necessary steps for tracing her. I 
must bid you let see me that note she left 
behind her.” 

“ Well, I never !” said Mrs. Jessop. 

She was scared out of her cough for the 
moment. The majesty of the law weighed 
heavily upon her, and she probably fancied 
herself already half-way on the road to 
prison. She bustled away to bring me the 
paper. On a scrap of flesh-colored note, 
which looked like half a halfpenny news- 
paper wrapper, was written in a shaky 
female hand, — 

“ I am going up to London for a few 
days. — E. Raynell.” 


9 


i 3 o THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 

There was nothing- else. I folded up the 
paper, and put it away in my pocket-book. 

“ I shall have to keep this,” I said ; “ and 
now, Mrs. Jessop, did any one in this house 
see Miss Raynell on Monday morning ? 
Did you ? ” 

“ Not I,” said Mrs. Jessop, when she 
fully understood my question ; " I am not 
up at all times of the night to suit my lod- 
ger’s whimsies. I work hard all day — h’m 
— a good deal harder than I ever thought 
I should have to, and I take my rest at 
night.” 

“ You think no one else saw her — no 
servant, for instance ? ” 

“ I have only one maid just at present,” 
said Mrs. Jessop magnificently; u once 
upon a time I had three, and a man. My 
present maid does not sleep in the house. 
She leaves at nine, and comes early next 
morning. It is an arrangement, sir, which 
has many advantages. There is a secu- 
rity ” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


131 

“ Y ou had no other lodgers in the 
house ? ” 

“ Not a soul. My second-floor comes 
in to-morrow.” 

“ Who were in the house on the night 
from Sunday to Monday ? Give all details 
as briefly and accurately as possible/’ I 
said — or rather shouted — looking very 
stern . 

“ Miss Raynell had been alone the 
greater part of Sunday. She had gone to 
St. Stephen’s, round the corner, in the 
morning. St. Stephens is one of those 
churches which — h’m — as my dear hus- 
band used to say ” 

“ As briefly as possible,” I shouted. 

“ H’m ! In the afternoon her nephew, 
Austin, came to see her. They quarrelled, 
at least — h’m — the old lady abused her 
nephew. I must say this of Mr. Austin 
Harvey, that he never answers his aunt 
roughly — always as soft and kind as can 
be. But she — h’m — abuses him, as she 
abuses the other one, who answers back 


I 3 2 the black-box murder. 

again and gives her as good as he gets. 
Austin’s all gentleness. She dined alone, 
and Austin came back for half an hour in 
the evening. There was another scene 
then— at least, so the girl said — I’m too 
deaf ; I don’t hear. When Mr. Austin went 
away to his evening service — h’m — the old 
lady sat alone in the front room reading, 
and at ten she went to bed. That was the 
last of her — she left the house before seven 
on Monday morning, before the girl had 
come in, so as to catch the early train. I 
heard the door bang myself.” 

“ Y ou did not see her go ? ” 

“ No.” 

a Was she in the habit of slipping out 
like that ? ” 

“ She- was — h’m — I regret to say. She 
goes for walks along the cliffs before break- 
fast. She breakfasts — h’m — at eight, sum- 
mer and winter, I believe. A glass of milk 
is always put in the sitting-room over night, 
and she takes that, with a biscuit, before 
starting.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 133 

“ Was the glass emptied on Monday 
morning ? ” 

“ No; she never came back.” 

“ Was the glass emptied on Monday 
morning ? ” 

“ Oh yes, it was.” 

I hesitated for a moment. 

“ The murderer must have emptied it,” 
I said to myself, not without a slight shudder 
at the thought. “ Not an everyday assas- 
sin, this Mr. Philip Harvey.” 

“ And Philip Harvey,” I resumed — 
“ when was he last here ? ” 

“ Philip Harvey — h’m — as I was going 
to state,” said the landlady, “ slept here on 
the night from Sunday to Monday.” I 
started, but did not interrupt her. “ He 
had been here last — h’m — on Saturday. 
He came in on Sunday evening at about 
half-past nine. I let him in, for the servant 
had just gone.” 

“ And when did he leave ? ” 

« Eh ? ” 


>34 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


“ When did he go away on Monday ? ” 

“ Oh, he doesn’t — h’m — get up early, as 
a rule, you may be sure, but he had to, 
comparatively, that day. He left for Lon- 
don at nine o’clock.” 

“ Alone ? ” 

“ No ; his brother came to fetch him. 
He breakfasted in his bedroom, and then 
they left together in a cab.” 

“ With luggage ? ” 

“ Yes, a portmanteau, and — h’m — a big 
black box he has, Mr. Detective — for 
books, he says.” 

“ For books ? Surely he is hardly the 
man, by your description, to do much read- 
ing.” 

“ He is irregular, sir, off and on. He is 
a medical student, I believe, or supposed 
to be, and he has a certain amount — h’m — 
of books in his room.” 

“ But did he come and go as he chose, 
Mrs. Jessop ? ” 

u He did. And I’m sorry to say, Mr. 
Officer, and ashamed to say it — h’m — that 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER , . 135 

I allowed Miss Raynell to have the latch- 
key of this house. It’s a thing I have never 
done before, and a thing I shall never do 
again, but she is not a good — h’m — woman 
to contradict, and besides, she pays extra 
for it." 

“ How much did she pay, Mrs. Jessop, 
for that privilege ? ” 

“ Five shillings a week, sir, and I very 
much fear she sometimes gives the key to 
her nephews.” 

“ Was that like her ? ” 

“ Well, shes contrary and indulgent, 
alternately — there’s no saying.” 

I have given this conversation in as few 
words as possible, cutting down Mrs. Jes- 
sop’s elucubrations wherever I could. It 
was a fatiguing conversation, for the old lady 
was very deaf and decrepit, and hardly 
ever understood me at once. Still, we 
managed to flounder through it somehow, 
and the facts it revealed to me were impor- 
tant enough. It gave me, as it were, the 
whole mis-en- scene of the murder. 


136 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

I sent for the maid and questioned her ; 
but that was useless. The maid knew 
nothing. She had left the house on Sun- 
day night before Philip entered it, and when 
she came back on Monday morning, Miss 
Raynell had already disappeared. I only 
learnt from her that the black box had been 
extremely heavy. The cabman had sworn 
over it as he dragged it on to the top of his 
cab. Philip Harvey had merely said, 

“ Yes, it is heavy. It is full of books.” 

She had taken in Mr. Philip’s breakfast 
at half-past eight when he rang. She had 
admitted Mr. Austin about half-an-hour 
earlier. Mr. Austin had gone in to his 
brother. When she brought* in the break- 
fast, Mr. Philip was up and dressed. Mr. 
Austin inquired about his aunt, and she had 
told him that Miss Raynell had left an hour 
ago for London. While she was in the 
room Mr. Austin had said, “ So your box 
is packed ? ” and Mr. Philip had answered, 
“ Of course it is ; not a book left in the 
place. I’m glad you found the key, or 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


*37 

what should I have done? ” Half-an-hour 
later they had rung for a cab. The two 
gentlemen had moved the heavy box out 
on to the steps, and had helped the cabman. 
Mr. Philip had told the man to drive to the 
station. 

No one in the house had seen anything 
or heard anything of the brothers or of their 
aunt since. 

I expressed my desire to see the bed- 
rooms. Miss Raynell’s was perfectly neat, 
but still it looked as if the occupant had 
left it unexpectedly. All the toilet articles 
were on the table or in its drawers. 

“ Do you know whether a bonnet and 
shawl of Miss Raynell’s are missing ? ” I 
said to the landlady. 

Mrs. Jessop could not tell, tC her mind 
being above such petty spying ; ” but the 
maid assured me that Miss Raynell pos- 
sessed but one bonnet, and one round black 
straw hat for the beach. 

In a cupboard we found the straw hat 
hung up, and the bonnet in a box. 


138 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

“ Lawks ! ” cried Polly, “ she must have 
gone to London without her hat.” 

“Nonsense,” I said sharply. “ You 
must have made a mistake. She had an- 
other bonnet, doubtless.” 

The young mans room contained nothing 
of interest. He had taken his things away 
with him. I went back to Miss Raynell’s 
room. There was a second cupboard in 
the wall. I opened it. It was stocked up 
to the top with books — medical, most of 
them, as I saw at a glance. 

“ Lawks ! ” cried Polly again. “ And he 
to say he hadn’t left a book in the house ! 
But however did they get here ? ” 

I returned to the sitting-room, mistress 
and maid following me. 

“ Mrs. Jessop,” I said — shouted — as im- 
pressively as I could, “ and you Mary 
Hopkins, Miss Raynell has gone, as I told 
you, to London without leaving an address. 
There is nothing in that, but I can under- 
stand her nephew’s anxiety. She is not at 
her own house. We must find out where 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


139 


she is. I have received the necessary in- 
formation. But mind you, this inquiry must 
remain strictly private.” I put on a magis- 
terial air. u In the Queen’s name I bind you 
over to keep the peace and this trust. If 
others come about here inquiring, the less 
you tell them the better for you. Remem- 
ber, should a word of all this become public, 
it must be through your agency, for no one 
else is informed of it besides Mr. Harvey 
and myself. We shall at once trace it 
home to you. Will you swear to keep the 
peace ? An infraction will involve an action 
for breach of confidence. In the Queen’s 
name, swear ! ” 

“Oh, dear, yes,” said Mrs. Jessop, 
trembling. 

“ Oh, lawk a mussy,” said Polly. 

I do enjoy humbugging fools. “ That’ll 
make it pleasant for the Scotland Yard 
men,” I said to myself. “ Thank you, no, 
gentlemen; this murder’s my little job, and 
I’ve two-thirds settled it already.” 


i 4 o THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

“And now, Mrs. Jessop,” I remarked, 
“ what did your husband use to say about 
the papists ? ” 

It was a little compensation I owed 
her. I spare the reader. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


141 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE OLD NIGGER'S. 

One other thing I gathered from Mrs. Jes- 
sop’s remarks before I left her. When 
Philip Harvey came home on that Sunday 
night, he had taken more wine than was 
good for him. 

“ And is Philip a left-handed man, Mrs. 
Jessop?” I asked, suddenly turning as I 
was taking my leave. 

u I could not say, sir, never having — h’m 
— noticed .” 

<c And you, Miss Polly ? ” 

Polly did not know either. She did not 
think so. 

“ And what am I to say when Miss 
Raynell comes back ? ” asked the landlady. 
“ Where am I — h’m — to write to let you 
know ? ” 


142 


THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 


“ Write to Mr. Austin/’ I said, running 
down the steps. 

I could not bear the way in which she 
innocently went on speaking of the dead 
woman as of a person still alive. 

I was not dejected on the return journey. 
On the contrary, I was elated. I am an 
easily impressed man, I fear, but still any 
one would have admitted that I had made 
enormous progress. It was not likely that 
the French or English police would over- 
take me now, although I had no doubt they 
were following close on my heels. All that 
remained for me to do was to discover the 
present abode of the murderer. 

I had heard from Mrs. Jessop that the 
bed in Miss Raynell’s room had been slept 
in on the last night of her stay in the house. 
This led me to conclude that the murder 
had been committed early on Monday 
morning ; not, as the French doctors had 
affirmed, late on Sunday night. 

It was evident to me that Philip Harvey 
had returned home on Sunday night either 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


143 


really the worse for drink, or else pretend- 
ing to be so. He had gone up to his room, 
and passed the night there, and had pene- 
trated into his aunt’s room in the early 
morning, when she was up and dressed. It 
was possible that Miss Raynell had even 
drunk the glass of milk herself. Her ne- 
phew had struck her down, and then chlo- 
roformed her, as his studies as a medical 
student would probably have taught him. 
He had then packed the body into his box, 
under pretence of carrying off his books, 
and had thus taken it away to the station. 
Some wonderful mischance had mixed up 
the fatal box at Charing Cross with Mrs. 
Simpkinson’s luggage, and the rest of the 
horrible drama had developed itself before 
my eyes. 

This was my theory of the murder as it 
stood at present — on the Friday following. 

I have said just now that nothing more 
remained for me but to find out the abode 
of the murderer. I must not, however, 
forget one other point. I knew nothing as 


144 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


yet of the motives which had led to the 
deed. As long as I do not know the 
motives of a crime, I consider that crime 
still altogether unexplained. 

I could learn nothing with regard to this 
subject from Mrs. Jessop. Miss Raynell 
had not been a talkative woman, and the 
landlady knew absolutely nothing about 
her lodger s antecedents. I must find out 
these, if possible, from the murderer him- 
self. I resolved to start for Dover that 
very evening. I felt that, in the state 
of mind I was in at present, I must meet 
everywhere with success. 

Philip Harvey had been at Dover on 
Tuesday. So his letter showed. He would 
probably have remained there, anxiously 
awaiting the return of his box, which, as I 
knew, Austin was unable to send him. 

Would Austin warn him ? This question 
I could not answer with certainty. It had 
struck me that Austin had told me, during 
our interview at the “ Pension,” where Miss 
Simpkinson was confined, that his aunt had 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 145 

been staying alone at No. 17 Marine Parade. 
He had evidently not considered it incum- 
bent on him to describe his brother as stay- 
ing with her, that brother being only an 
occasional visitor. It was only natural that 
Austin Harvey should do all he could to 
save his brother from the gallows. That 
brother would, I felt sure of it, reach the 
gallows nevertheless. I had the rope round 
his neck already. 

I took the letter from my pocket-book 
as I sat in the train, and puzzled over it in 
the hope of finding some indication of the 
whereabouts of the murderer. 

“ The old place, the old niggers ” — that 
was all. 

“ Nigger ” was probably not to be taken 
literally. If by any chance it should refer 
to a black man, my task would be very 
much facilitated. There could not be many 
black men in Dover. But it was much 
more probable that it would prove to be 
some nickname, or some allusion which I 


146 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

could not understand. I must go to 
Dover and trust my luck. 

There was one other point which 
remained unelucidated in my mind. Philip 
Harvey had traveled from Southend to 
London with the black box containing his 
aunt’s body. Then why did that box — 
which had been immediately passed on to 
Paris — not show evidence of that prelimi- 
nary journey in the shape of a luggage- 
label of some sort, marked either u Lon- 
don ” alone, or “ Southend to London ? ” 

I did not go straight on to Dover, but 
drove to the office first. I was very glad 
I had done so, for I found a letter waiting 
me from Austin Harvey. It had arrived 
that morning just after my departure from 
Southend. 

“ Sir,” said the letter, — “ I feel more and 
more that ever since my reckless folly, or, 
as it would seem, God’s avenging provi- 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


T 47 


dence placed us in your hands, and at your 
mercy, I have been unwise to try and hold 
out. You know too much. You know 
enough, however, to understand by what 
anxieties I am distracted and led wrong. 
I am resolved to do my duty, come what 
may. 

“ And forgive me if after a fearful 
struggle, I have decided that my con- 
science commanded, or, at anyrate, allowed 
me to save one very near and dear to me 
from a fate too terrible to contemplate. I 
must confess my deed and take the con- 
sequences. Immediately after I had left 
you, I telegraphed to ‘ Philip/ warned 
him, and bade him fly. By this time he is, 
I hope, in safety. God forgive me if I did 
wrong, but I could not help it. How could 
I? 

“ Do not go to Dover ; it would be 
absolutely useless. You will find no one 
there. By this time, doubtless, you know 
half the miserable story. The remaining 
half — it is no use my trying to mislead my- 


148 THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 

self — awaits you at Southend. You know 
that as well as I do. I shall remain here 
in Paris and await events. In judging me 
take my awful position into account. 
Heaven have mercy upon us all. 

“ Austin Harvey.’’ 

When I had read this letter, I walked 
straight to Charing Cross Station and took 
the train for Dover. 

The only thing I wanted to know at this 
moment was : where was Philip Harvey 
staying, or where had he stayed while at 
Dover ? I puzzled over the “ old nigger ” 
in the train, but, of course, I could come to 
no satisfactory conclusion. 

We reached Dover, and I alighted. As 
I walked down the platform, I found my- 
self confronted by a board full of adver- 
tisements, and amongst these stood out 
prominently the grinning heads of two 
turbaned blackamoors. It was the adver- 
tisement of a small hotel called the “ Sara- 
cen’s Head.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 149 

I took a fly and ordered the man to 
drive me to a commercial hotel. I had 
never stayed in Dover, though I had 
passed through it a dozen times and more, 
and I knew nothing of its accommodation, 
except that the “ Lord Warden ” was first- 
class and expensive. As the man drove off 
in the direction of the town, I bethought 
me of the name I had come across at the 
station. I put my head out at the window, 
and asked the fly-driver if he knew the 
“Saracen’s Head.” 

Oh, yes, he knew it. It was a sort of 
first-class public-house or grill-room — a 
restaurant on a small scale, with lodging- 
rooms upstairs. 

“ That will do,” I said; and so we drove 
there. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


* 5 ° 


CHAPTER XV. 

PHILIP HARVEY. 

It was rapidly getting dark when we 
reached the “ Saracens Head.” Just as 
the cab drew up at the door, a man came 
running hurriedly out, the sight of whom 
made me shrink back into a corner. It 
was Austin Harvey. He seemed very 
much perturbed, and passed on without 
looking to right or left. 

All at once, as soon as I saw Austin 
Harvey, the connection flashed across my 
brain. “ The old nigger ! ” “ The Sara- 

cen’s Head ! ” I was amazed at my own 
dulness. My good fortune had led me to 
the very house from which Philip Harvey 
had written his letter. There was a big 
black head, grinning away over the door. 

Austins presence here convinced me 


THE BLACK-BOX MUR DEB. 15 1 

that his brother was also near. I did not 
doubt that I should have found him, in any 
case, in a day or two, but I was none the 
less glad to save so much time and trouble. 

“ So Austin Harvey can tell lies also/' I 
said to myself. But immediately after- 
wards I reasoned that this was unjust. 
Doubtless he had declared his intention to 
remain where he was in perfect good faith, 
and it was only later on, when his advice 
proved fruitless, that he had hurried over 
to save his brother before it was too late. 

From all this I could quickly draw the 
conclusion that it was too late, and that I 
had Philip Harvey in my power. 

The hostelry was a very simple one. I 
engaged a bed, and ordered a chop in the 
coffee-room in an hour’s time. As the 
waiter was leaving the room, I said, — 
i( Any one staying in the house at 
present ? ” 

A number of people had been there 
yesterday, it appeared. At present there 
were not very many. 


152 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

“ I met a gentleman this evening who is 
staying here, I believe,” I said carelessly. 
“ A tall, fair man, rather sallow. You 
don’t happen to know whom I mean, and 
if his name’s Thompson ? ” 

1 1 was a wild shot. The waiter looked 
puzzled. 

“ No,” he said ; “ there was a gentleman 
in the house who answered to my descrip- 
tion ; but his name was not Thompson. 
He was a Mr. Harvey ; and, besides, he 
hadn’t been out of his room all day. He 
was in it now.” 

This was all I required to know. 

“ That’s not the man,” I said. “It 
doesn’t matter.” And I dismissed the 
waiter. 

Philip Harvey, then, was staying in the 
house, and he was actually there under his 
own name. I had expected to learn his 
alias from the waiter. 

I went down to dinner and attacked my 
chop. It was really very fair. I felt in 
excellent spirits, and I had half a pint of 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


*53 


sherry instead of my customary porter. 
This inquiry was going to be a success 
for me. It ought, I felt, to make my repu- 
tation. While the French authorities and 
the English detectives were bungling over 
the black box, and worrying Miss Simpkin- 
son, I had got all the threads of the 
mystery into my hands. Philip Harvey 
could still escape before I laid the neces- 
sary information against him ; but the 
family would have to come down hand- 
somely before I let him go. That was 
only fair. 

As I sat thinking over my sherry after 
dinner, dozing a little, perhaps, in the com- 
fortable coffee-room, — I was quite alone 
there, — I suddenly found myself startled 
by the violent opening of the door. A man 
came in noisily, stumbling forward as he 
walked. I saw at a glance that this was 
Philip Harvey. He had his brothers tall 
slender figure, and his brothers fair hair. 
But there the resemblance came to an end. 
He had neither his brother’s fresh com- 


154 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

plexion nor his clear blue eyes. His cheeks 
were sallow, and his eyes had a furtive, 
frightened look in them. 

He rang the bell violently also, and 
began pacing up and down the sanded 
floor. When the waiter looked in, he called 
for “ another, hot and strong.” I should 
have said he had had enough already. 

He had passed me once or twice with 
side-long glances ; all of a sudden he 
stopped in front of me, like a man who 
makes up his mind. 

“ Can you talk ? ” he said. “ Are you 
sociable ? Damn it, in a hole like this, one 
must get through the evening somehow.” 

I woke up immediately. 

“ That was just what I was thinking,” I 
said, with alacrity. “ I shall be only too 
glad, I am sure, to make your acquaintance, 
sir. Shall we settle down in this corner ? ” 

Philip Harvey threw himself down on a 
sofa against the wall, and I took a chair 
opposite him, with a little table between 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 155 

us. The waiter came in with a steaming 
glass of brandy and water. 

u That looks excellent,” I remarked 
cheerfully. “ I cannot do better than keep 
you company.” 

Harvey ordered the man to bring a 
second glass, with another oath. He 
garnished his conversation freely with 
these superfluities. 

He went on grumbling a little about the 
place and the weather (which latter had 
been very fine all day). I tried one or 
two allusions to the public events of the 
moment, but he “ damned my politics ” so 
vigorously that I hastened to retreat from 
that track. Not by any means a pleasant- 
spoken man, this Mr. Philip Harvey. A 
man with a conscience not at rest. 

“ My name is Spence,” I said, after some 
more beating about the bush. I consi- 
dered that preliminaries had now taken up 
sufficient time. i( Mr. Spence, of London. 
May I know whom I have the pleasure of 
spending the evening with ? ” 


156 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

“ Yes, damn it. My name’s Harvey — 
Philip Harvey — and I’m not ashamed of 
it” 

“ Indeed, no ; why whould you be ? 
Might I inquire if you happen to be a con- 
nection of Mr. Austin Harvey, the South- 
end clergyman ? I should not ask, of 
course, only something in your manner 
reminded me of him as you came in.” 

“ The man’s my brother,” said Philip. 

“ Indeed ! Now, that is very extraor- 
dinary. I met your brother in Paris a 
week or so ago. Let me see — no, not a 
week. This is Friday. It must have been 
as recently as last Tuesday. I was quite 
surprised to see him in Paris, and yet, 
really, I don’t see why I should have been.” 

tc Humph,” said my companion, reaching 
for a cigar- light. 

“ And how is your good aunt, Miss Ray- 
nell ? ” 

Harvey’s face turned white. He trem- 
bled all over. He had the greatest diffi- 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 157 

culty in keeping his seat. I sat watching 
him. 

“ Damn Miss Raynell,” he said hoarsely. 
“ I mean to say, she’s all right, the miserly 
old scarecrow. You seem to know the 
whole family, you, sir. I never heard of 
you before.” 

“ Oh, yes, I know all about you,” I said. 
“ Y ou shouldn’t abuse Miss Raynell on the 
score of economy, though. A penny saved 
by her is a penny gained by you, isn’t it ? ” 

Philip Harvey struck his fist on the table. 

“ No, it isn’t,” he shouted. “ And if 
you knew as much about the family as you 
think you do, you wouldn’t have said that. 
Austin’s her heir — always was. And if any 
one is ever to have any advantage from 
her death, it’ll be Austin. And it was in 
my interest to keep her alive as long as I 
could.” 

He lowered his voice, and said these last 
words to himself, but I heard them dis- 
tinctly. 


*S» 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


The news startled me more than I liked 
to confess to myself. I had no doubt of 
the man’s sincerity. There was a rough 
straightforwardness about Philip Harvey. 
If anything, he was too straightforward, as 
he certainly was too rough. 

“ Well, nevermind,” I said. “ Will you 
have another drink ? Let me ring.” 

“ All right ; thank you, and let’s give up 
talking rot. Do you play cards ? ” said 
Philip Harvey. 

“ Some games,” I replied, not without a 
little hesitation. 

This was not the most agreeable gentle- 
man one would care to play cards with. 

“ That’s right. Here you, Robert, you 
scoundrel, get us a pack of cards.” 

The cards were brought, and we sat 
down to play euchre. Harvey played well, 
but he drank too much. He took up the 
cards to shuffle and deal, and as he took 
them up and held them, one thing struck 
me for which I had not been prepared. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 159 

As far as I could see, he was not left- 
handed. 


* 


i6o 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

AN AWKWARD QUESTION. 

We played on for some time in comparative 
silence. I won, and this did not improve 
Mr. Harvey’s temper. He began throwing 
the cards about, and ordered another glass 
of grog. 

Now and then we exchanged a few 
words about the game. Occasionally 
Philip would mutter an oath over his cards 
or over any especial stroke of luck on my 
part. I looked across at his skulking face 
with, I fear, an ugly look in my eyes. I 
hated the drunken scoundrel. Here was a 
cowardly murderer of old women growling 
and swearing at his betters. I had but to 
speak a word, and the fellow lay in gaol. 
How his hand trembled as he held the cards. 
He was half-besotted with drink already. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 161 

I lifted my glass. It was still more than 
half full. I am a temperate man. 

“ As you say, it is to your advantage 
she should live,” I said. “ I drink Miss 
Raynell’s health, and — Miss Simpkinson’s.” 
I sipped a few drops. 

“ Thank you,” mumbled Philip, without 
touching his glass. 

I hate a rude man. 

“ Miss Simpkinson,” I began again, “ the 
charming ” 

Suddenly Philip Harvey turned into a 
gentleman. 

“ I do not consider, sir,” he said haughtily, 
“ that our very slight acquaintanceship au- 
thorizes your introducing that young lady’s 
name as a subject of conversation. Have 
the goodness to choose another one. I 
esteem Miss Simpkinson too highly to 
make her the subject of a tavern jest.” 

I was slightly abashed, but a good deal 
more irritated. I noticed the complete 
change of manner, the change of voice. 


11 


1 62 THE BLACK’ BOX MURDER . 

“ He loves Miss Simpkinson,” I said to 
myself, 6t and she is engaged to marry his 
brother.” 

He wanted another subject of conversa- 
tion. I resolved that he should have it. 
What I next said, I said more from spite 
than from any better consideration. We 
are all human, and have our little weak- 
nesses at times. 

“ I do not wonder you esteem her highly,” 

I said, as I cut the cards. iC But what has 
become of her esteem for you, do you think, 
since she looked into your black box the 
other day ? ” 

Philip Harvey dropped his hands, with 
the cards in them, and stared blankly at me 
for a moment. Then — with a rapid move- 
ment — before I could realize what he was 
about to do, he flung the whole pack in my 
face. His glass followed immediately after, 
still full of grog. I dodged that, however, 
and it went crashing into a mirror behind 
me. Then the man rose from his seat, and, 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 163 

without another word or look, strode out of 
the room as best he could. 

I remained behind, very much ruffled 
and annoyed. I resented, of course, the 
manner in which I had been treated ; and I 
resented it all the more because I felt it was 
more than half deserved. T t had been 
ruffianly of me to make that crude reference 
to the black-box tragedy, and, worse than 
that, it had been excessively stupid. I, 
who had been so successful and so wary till 
now — I had given way to a childish freak 
of ill-temper. Instrivingto ‘'payout” my 
adversary, I had put him prematurely on 
his guard. 

As soon as I began to cool down, I felt 
that I must now seek to make sure of nr p 
man. The broken mirror rendered thf. 
much easier for me than it would otherwise 
have been. I immediately sent for the 
landlord, — a waiter had come running at 
the sound of broken glass, — and when the 
landlord arrived, I told him that I had just 
been most violently assaulted in his house 


164 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

by a gentleman with whom I was barely 
acquainted. He did not seem to consider 
this of very much importance, but he was 
highly incensed at the sight of the broken 
mirror. He assured me the man could pay, 
and he started for his room even now to 
make him do so. I stopped him. 

“ The fellow’s drunk,” I said, “ and you’ll 
hardly get anything out of him to-night — 
except abuse.” 

“Well, that’s true,” said the landlord 
dubiously ; “ but I must have my money, 
all the same.” 

“ Wait till to-morrow morning,” I cried 
hastily, “ and take measures to prevent his 
escaping you in the meantime.” 

It was a means, as I saw at once, of 
repairing my own mistake. I must enlist 
the landlord as a watch on my man. 

“He’s not fit to speak to just now,” I 
said. “ And you’re bound to get your 
money to-morrow.” 

“ There’s a tiny bolt on the outside of 
some of my doors,” said the landlord. “ I 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 165 

find it often comes convenient with cus- 
tomers what’s had too much. There’s one 
on his. I’ll just slip it across in an hour or 
two, when he’s asleep. He won’t jump 
from the second floor in a hurry.” 

It was a great relief to me to hear this. 
I went up to my room with a lighter heart, 
but I could not sleep much all night for 
thinking of that man lying under the same 
roof with me — lying with those imprudent, 
awful words of mine rankling in his breast, 
lying waiting for what the morning would 
bring forth. 

What the morning would bring forth ! I 
myself had but a vague idea as yet what I 
should ask of it ; and little did I know what 
an amazing discovery it held in store for 


me. 


1 66 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE MISSING LUGGAGE-LABEL FOUND. 

I woke up next morning from a restless 
sleep, into which I had fallen at break of 
day, and saw, to my surprise, that it was 
already eight o’clock. Immediately my 
thoughts reverted to “ my prisoner,” as I 
had begun to call him. Was he in his own 
room still ? Of what was he thinking ? Had 
the landlord, perhaps, already settled with 
him ? I hurried on my clothes, and ran out 
on to the landing. My room was situated 
on the first floor ; Harvey’s was on the 
second, but not over mine. 

As I opened my door, I heard Austin 
Harvey’s voice downstairs, inquiring for his 
brother. I heard the waiter answer that 
Mr. Harvey was still in his room. No one 
had seen him, or been into him as yet. A 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 167 

great weight was taken off my mind. 
Austin Harvey came upstairs, and I shrank 
back behind my door. 

As soon as he had passed, I crept out 
on to the landing again. I heard him call- 
ing to his brother, and trying the locked 
door. No sound came from the other side. 
I suddenly found myself trembling again 
with the thought that my prey might have 
escaped me — my legitimate prey, mind 
you. 

“ He is in there,” said the waiter. “ Hes 
pretending to be asleep, sir.” 

They conferred for a moment in a low 
voice, and then both went into the room 
adjoining Philips, which was exactly over 
mine. There was a door of communication 
between the two adjoining rooms. It was 
locked, but the waiter had the key. Austin 
threw down his overcoat on a chair in the 
unused room, and quickly passed through 
a side-door into his brother’s presence. 

He had scarcely left the room before I 


1 68 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


was in it. I slipped half-a-crown into the 
waiter’s hand. 

“ I take this room,” I said, in a voice not 
much above a whisper. “ You can move 
my things in presently, as soon as I ring. 
It is more airy, I fancy.” 

And I pushed the astonished man out, 
and watched him downstairs. In his be- 
wilderment he had left the key on the floor. 
I felt that matters were coming to a crisis. 

I shut the door on to the landing, and 
locked it ; but, before I did so, I had slipped 
the bolt to outside Philip’s room, and thus 
prevented egress in that direction. I did 
not dare attempt to re-lock the door be- 
tween the two rooms, and thus shut the two 
brothers in altogether. They would be 
sure to hear the click. So I locked myself 
in with them. 

From the sound of voices in the next 
room, I perceived that Austin had indeed 
found his brother, so that the waiter’s state- 
ment had been correct. I strained my ear 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 169 

by the door, but I could not hear what 
they were saying. They spoke too low. 

This was, of course, a great annoyance 
and disappointment to me, but I had to 
bear it as best as I could. I took comfort 
in the thought that, perhaps, in time, as 
they became more animated, their voices 
would rise to a higher pitch. In the mean- 
time I sat down beside the door, and looked 
round the bare room. 

The first thing that attracted my atten- 
tion was Austin Harvey’s coat, thrown 
carelessly on a chair. I took it up mechan- 
ically, and, obeying the rule of my profes- 
sion, began to examine it, and feel in the 
pockets. I did not expect it would contain 
anything of interest, but, being engaged in 
the Harvey case, of course I could not 
leave the overcoat lying there without 
having a look at it. 

I soon came to the conclusion that it did, 
indeed, contain nothing of any importance, 


170 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

and I laid it down again. I had found a 
pair of black kid gloves in one pocket, a 
small prayer-book in another, and a couple 
of shillings in a card-slit under the right 
breast. In the breast-pocket on the left 
was a pocket-handkerchief. 

After I had laid the coat down I took it 
up again. The whispering in the next 
room continued. I had nothing else to do ; 
mechanically I once more felt in the 
pockets. I drew out the handkerchief for 
the second time, and, just as I was about to 
replace it, some indefinite curiosity tempted 
me to plunge down my hand still more 
deeply into the pocket. This time I felt a 
little crushed up ball in one corner. The 
pocket was an exceptionally deep one. I 
drew out a slip of thin paper, which had 
been crumpled up, and thrust down into 
the pocket, and forgotten there. I flat- 
tened it out. It proved to be merely a 
luggage-label, “ Southend to London.” 

“ Southend to London.” Not of much 
importance. Still, that was the very label 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 171 

I had missed off Philip Harvey’s box at 
Paris. 

“ Southend to London.” How came this 
paper forgotten in a recess of Austin Har- 
vey’s coat ? 

The explanation seemed easy enough. 
It was a label from some piece of luggage 
of his. Living in Southend, as he did, he 
must have come up to London a score of 
times. 

Satisfactory as the explanation was, it 
did not satisfy me. 

While I still sat staring at the luggage- 
label, exactly the thing I had hoped for 
came to pass. Philip Harvey’s voice rose 
in the heat of the discussion. 

“ I don’t believe I did it,” he said em- 
phatically. “ Whatever you may say, I 
can’t believe I did it.” 

“ I don’t believe I did it ! ” Did what ? 
Surely not the murder ? Was the man 
capable of acting such a part to his own 
brother ? 


172 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

t( Hush,” said Austin ; but, after a mo- 
ment, it was Austin’s voice which rose. 

“ And therefore must be,” were the first 
words I heard him say. “ Oh, Philip, Phi- 
lip, why do you not admit it ? For whose 
profit are you lying thus ? Once more, 
does not your own letter to me in Paris 
prove beyond doubt that you knew what 
were the contents of that horrible box ? 
And now you deny it. Oh, Philip, Philip ! ” 

“ The box!” cried Philip, in a terrified 
tone. “ Don’t talk of it ! There's another 
fiend in this house who pursues me with 
that box. No, I swear that before you 
forced your way in here this minute, I had 
no idea what there was in my box — good 
heavens ! I can’t believe it even now — 
the dead body of Aunt Elizabeth ! I don’t 
believe it, Austin. You’re fooling me. 
She’s told you what happened on Sunday 
night, and you’re trying to frighten me into 
saying Pm sorry. Well, I am sorry. But 
her dead body in the box ! I won’t believe 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


173 


it. Poor old creature ! — poor, stingy, cross 
old thing ! ” 

And, to my unbounded surprise, the 
rough fellow burst into quite a passion of 
weeping. 

There was a short silence. Then Austin 
said, distinctly and impressively, in a cold 
voice, not like his usual genial tones, — 
“You killed her that Sunday night, 
Philip. You know you did. Dare you, in 
the sight of heaven, before the memory of 
our dead parents — dare you deny that you 
struck her down on that Sunday night ? ” 

I pressed my head against the panel. I 
listened for the answer in a tremble of 
suspense. It came, but, in spite of all my 
straining, I could not catch it. There was 
a long pause. I ground my teeth with 
impotent disappointment. Presently, how- 
ever, Austin spoke audibly again, and I 
gathered something of Philips answer from 
what I now heard his brother say. 

“ Then, if you are not unwilling to deny 
that first horrible point,” said Austin, “ why, 


174 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

in the name of madness, do you deny the 
rest ? ” 

“ I admit what I remember,” cried Philip 
excitedly ; “ I wont admit any more.” 

“ You will not deny that you were drunk 
on that night ? ” 

u No,” said Philip sturdily. 

“ Too drunk to know what you were 
about, as is only too frequently your con- 
dition, my poor brother.” 

As far as I could make out, Philip was 
silent. 

“ Listen,” began Austin ; but Philip in- 
terrupted him. 

“ Does Edith know it all ? ” he cried 
eagerly. 

“ Of course she knows a good deal,” said 
Austin. ts You cannot deny that you have 
repeatedly declared you would do the old 
woman some mischief if she bothered you 
any longer about your — your habits. You 
have said so to Edith.” 

“ Yes,” admitted Philip ; “ in fun.” 

* 6 Very well,” continued Austin. “ On 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 175 

Sunday night you come home drunk ; you 
have words with aunt ; you push her out 
of your room. All this you admit ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Philip again — quite loud. 

“You are alone with her all night. 
Next morning she has disappeared. We 
leave the house together, and a few hours 
later the body is found in your trunk. 
This is a fact, at anyrate, whether you 
admit it or not.” 

Philip was silent again. 

“ And now you deny that you put it 
there. Yet you knew it was there, for 
your letter to me proves that.” 

“ Austin,” said Philip hoarsely, “ I 
always used to love and honor you as an 
elder brother, and, as far as I can remem- 
ber, with all my faults — God knows there 
are plenty of them ! — I have never told a 
lie in my life. I swear to you that I never 
knew of Aunt Elizabeths death till you 
came into this room this morning.” 

“ Then,” said Austin roughly, “ why did 
you write me that letter to Paris ? ” 


176 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

Again there was a pause ; but at last 
Philip spoke out distinctly enough. 

“ I’d better tell you/’ he said, “what I 
remember. Of course, it’s a little mixed 
up, you know. But — well, I suppose 
there’s no chance for me with Edith in any 
case, Austin ? ” 

“ Of course not,” cried Austin fiercely. 
“ She’s engaged to me. How dare you 
speak of it ? Didn’t Miss Simpkinson tell 
you so herself ? ” 

“ Yes, I know. Only a fellow some- 
times thinks — well, after Mrs. Simpkinson 
told me, I resolved to break off with Lucy 
at the tobacconist’s all the same. And I’d 
told her, and written to her too. And I’d 
had one or two letters from her, complain- 
ing — poor thing — and abusing me, you 
know. Very violent letters they were, 
too. And when I came in on Sunday 
night, my box was standing ready packed, 
to start next morning ; and I had her last 
letter about me, with a — a portrait and a 
lock of hair she’d sent, poor thing, and I 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 177 

just threw the whole lot loose a-top of my 
box and shut the lid down ; and I knew 
they were there, of course, and — well, you 
know, one wants to stand well with a 
woman, even if she don’t marry you, and 
if Edith had opened my box, she’d have 
seen the whole lot of the trumpery at once, 
and guessed the whole thing. I’d rather 
die than have Edith think badly of me, 
Austin, because I — because she’s going to 
be your wife, I suppose.” 

“ A very likely story,” said Austin, with 
a sneer. “ I hope you’ll get the police to 
believe it. I can’t answer for Edith or 
myself. So, when you left Southend, your 
box was full of your books, was it, with 
those love letters and tokens lying a-top of 
them ? ” 

“ Yes, by ,” cried Philip. 

“ And where, between Southend and 
Dover, did the old lady pop in ? ” 

There was another silence. 

“ I will accept, for the sake of argument, 
that you believe your own version,” said 


178 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

Austin ; “ and now I will tell^ you the true 
one. But first answer one question. Why 
were you so anxious to know what had 
become of Aunt Elizabeth ? Why were 
you in such a state about her ? ” 

“ I have already told you,” said Philip, 
“ I had had words with her. I had pushed 
her. It is very possible I hurt her. Next 
morning she was gone. I haven’t seen her 
since, and the thought has been constantly 
worrying me that I may have injured her 
more than I thought.” 

“ You probably did,” said Austin grimly. 
“ Now, listen to me. When you came 
home, you were angry with aunt, because 
you believed that, if she would but promise 
you a share of her money, Edith Simpkin- 
son would marry you instead of me. You 
had words with the old lady, and, as you 
say, you pushed her — in reality, you struck 
her to the ground.” 

“ No,” interposed Philip, “ I did not.” 

“ Y ou pushed her, and she fell. Do you 
deny that ? ” 


THE BLACHE OX MURDER. 


179 


“ I did not hear her fall. It was only 
next morning that I realized it might have 
been so.” 

“ You are prevaricating, Philip,” said 
Austin, with great scorn. 

But I was sure he was not. He was 
only trying to discriminate, as carefully as 
his hazy recollection would allow. 

“You pushed her? There you say 
your memory fails you. Let us go on. 
When you found the old woman did not 
get up again, you grew frightened. You 
tried in vain to restore her to consciousness, 
and ultimately, seeing it was no use, you 
unpacked your box, and placed the dead 
body in it, thinking to carry it away with 
you and get rid of it somehow. The boxes 
were interchanged at Charing Cross, and 
the rest is clear enough.” 

(t I don’t remember,” said Philip. 

“ Do you remember doing anything else 
that night ? Is any other explanation pos- 
sible ? Tell me, you who boast you never 


180 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

told a lie — tell me, have you not often acted 
as in a dream in one of your drunken fits ? 
Tell me, did you not take again of that 
hateful syrup of chloral on that very Sun- 
day night ? Tell me.” 

“ I did/’ said Philip. “ And you wouldn’t 
be surprised, either, if you knew what 
sleeplessness means to a nervous man 
when he’s drunk.” 

And can you consider yourself respon- 
sible under those circumstances ? Did not 
you yourself admit to me, only a week or 
two ago, that you saw things that weren’t 
in the room, and did things you had for- 
gotten next morning, when you took an 
overdose of chloral, and even when you 
didn’t ? ” 

Did Philip answer ? I could not hear. 

“ I will tell you,” Austin went on. 
“ There was a man once who came into 
my room in a frenzy of fear, because two 
burglars had broken into the house, and 
one of them had wounded him with a knife. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 181 

The blood was pouring down his night- 
shirt, he said. I looked, but I could see 
nothing. I went into his room with him, 
but there was no one to be seen.” 

“ Yes, yes!” screamed Philip. “I 
imagined things that were not, but I didn’t 
forget things that were.” 

“ Is there much difference ? I know a 
man who told me one morning that he had 
been in bed and asleep all night, and yet I 
had seen him out in the garden picking 
roses in the moonlight.” 

“ Stop, stop ! ” cried Philip. 

“ And we found the roses afterwards in 
another room.” 

Philip groaned aloud. 

“ Tell me this only,” said Austin passion- 
ately. (t The police are on us. The 
whole thing is being hunted down. Tell 
me one thing. What do you believe you 
did during that night ? ” 

“ After I had taken the chloral, I fell 
asleep.” 


1 82 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

u And dreamed ? ” 

“ Y es.” 

“ What did you dream ? ” 

“ I dreamed — oh, Austin — I don’t re- 
member. I dreamed that I was quarrelling 
with Aunt Elizabeth, I believe. But it’s 
all very vague and uncertain, and I had a 
terrible headache next morning.” 

“And when I joined you, the key of 
your door was missing. Philip, do you 
remember where I found it ? ” 

“Yes; in Aunt Elizabeths room.” 

“ Great heaven, what are you keeping 
back for ? How can I save you ? You 
will be captured here to-morrow — to-day, 
perhaps. The London detectives are 
working out the case. And you — you will 
not listen. You refuse to believe your 
own testimony. Fly, Philip, fly while you 
can. Once more, I will provide the 
money. Get away to some American 
State.” 

“ Are they really on my track ? ” asked 
Philip, half starting up. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


183 


u On yours and Edith s. More than that, 
Edith is in prison. They suspect her of 
being an accomplice. Get away to some 
American State, and then write from there 
and exculpate her.” 

“ Why did you not tell me all this in 
your letter ? ” cried Philip. “ The letter 
explained nothing.” 

“ Why did you refuse to see me yester- 
day ? ” answered Austin. “ I should have 
told you everything then.” 

“ And if I stay here ? ” 

“ You ruin both Edith and yourself 
Philip, think what it means — the gallows. 
In your heart you know that you, and you 
alone, must have done this deed. I am 
willing to believe you have forgotten half 
— we will prove your irresponsibility — any- 
thing — but fly first.” 

“ Merciful heaven, who else has done it 
if not I ? ” said Philip, in broken accents. 
“ I must have done it — God forgive me.” 

“ If you have unpacked your box,” said 


184 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

Austin slowly, “ the books must be in the 
house at Southend. You see that ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Philip anxiously. 

“ Do you remember unpacking it ? 
You shake your head. Let us go, and, if 
we find the books are there, will that con- 
vince you ? ” 

“ You go, you go,” said Philip. 

“ I will. I will leave you till to-morrow, 
because I fully believe we still have so 
much time before us, but to-morrow — mark 
me — you must leave England. We can 
have no convicted assassins in the family, 
Philip.” 

“ Look for the books — the books,” said 
Philip. His voice dropped into a murmur, 
and I could hear no more. 


T'HE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


1*5 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE ASPECT CHANGES. 

I could hear no more. In another moment 
Austin would be going. I slipped round 
and drew back the outer bolt. My views 
had very considerably changed since I first 
locked the brothers in, and my plans with 
them. I now intended to wait a little 
before I threatened Philip. It was certain, 
in any case, that he was not a deliberate 
murderer, and that the crime had taken 
place under very different circumstances 
from those which I had considered almost 
proven until now. I must have another 
talk with Philip. 

Austin would come back for his overcoat 
to the room I had appropriated as mine. I 
went down to the one on the first floor, and 
waited till the clergyman passed my door. 


1 86 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


He was barely out of the house when I ran 
up, opened the side-door, and stood, with- 
out any further warning, in the presence of 
Philip Harvey. 

He was sitting on a low chair by the 
empty fireplace, with his head in his hands. 
He looked up as I came in, and started 
back with an expression of extreme terror 
on his face. 

“ Mr. Harvey,” I said, “ I am a private 
detective. I was watching your case. Last 
night I was rude to you. I apologize. 
Last night I believed you were a murderer ; 
this morning I believe that, whatever you 
may be, you are not that. I am come to 
place myself at your disposal. This mys- 
tery must be unravelled. Let us unravel 
it together. Neither will succeed alone.” 

Philip Harvey muttered some unintelli- 
gible reply. I found it impossible at first to 
get anything out of him. He was pro- 
foundly distrustful, and looked upon me in 
the light of a detective and a natural enemy. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 187 

Very gradually I got him to believe that I 
was interested in his case on his own behalf, 
as indeed I was. 

“ You must tell me, in the first place,” I 
said presently, as we sat by the hearth to- 
gether, “ what you know about your aunt’s 
affairs. You said yesterday that her death 
was no advantage to you from a pecuniary 
point of view. Is that absolutely correct ?” 

“ Absolutely,” said Harvey; “ all her 
money goes to Austin.” 

“ Was she rich ? ” 

“ No. She had, I believe, some nine 
hundred pounds a year or so, and she left 
it all to Austin, as eldest.” 

ci There never was any talk of her leav- 
ing anything to you, or of her disinheriting 
him ? ” 

“ Well,” said Philip, “ not seriously, I 
think. I suppose ” he checked him- 

self. 

“ It is absolutely necessary for me to 
know everything,” I said, “ if I am to be 
of any assistance to you.” 


i88 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


“ My aunt did not like me as well as 
Austin. She disapproved of my wildness. 
I was not as good a boy as my brother, 
but lately she had espoused my cause in 
one matter. My brother and I were both 
fond of the same young lady. The lady’s 
mother turned me out of doors, and chose 
my brother — he being heir to my aunt’s 
small fortune. My aunt, who was a very 
shrewd old woman, got into her head that 
the young lady and I were better suited 
for each other, and that we, in fact, were 
really in love. She wished me to marry, 
and she had certainly often told Austin of 
late that she would change her will, and 
thus test the young lady’s affection. As 
for the young lady herself, she believed I 
had forgotten her for unworthy rivals, when, 
in reality, I was seeking to drown my 
sorrow in dissipation. She turned to my 
brother. They were engaged, chiefly 
through her mother’s influence. My aunt 
was very angry about it.” 


THE BLACHE OX MURDER. 189 

“ When were they engaged ? ” I asked. 

“ Last week. At least, they were half 
engaged. My aunt, as I told you, did not 
approve of the match. She was an old 
maid, but she had very strict ideas about 
the holiness of the marriage vow.” 

And so she wanted you to marry the 
young lady ? ” 

“ I believe so.” 

u In spite of all your misdoings ? ” 

“ She thought the girl would have been 
the making of me, and — damn it — I believe 
she would.” 

“ So when it comes to it,” I said, “ there 
was absolutely no reason why you should 
wish to shorten your aunts days ? On the 
contrary, you lose by her death ? ” 

Oh, yes. One could almost always 
wheedle something out of her — at least I 
could. Austin won’t be so easily imposed 
on.” 

“ And yet you threatened her ! ” 

“ Oh, that was never intended to be 
taken in earnest. Sometimes, when she 


igo THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

preached me long sermons, I used to get 
into a great rage. Once I said to the young 
lady my brother is engaged to, that I would 
do my aunt a mischief.” 

“ And the young lady heard that ? Ah, 
that explains a good deal.” 

“ You mean to tell me,” said Philip 
bitterly, “ that, when the discovery was 
made, she at once jumped to the conclusion 
that I had carried out my threat ? Ay, so 
my brother says.” 

“ You can hardly call it jumping at a 
conclusion,” I remarked severely ; “ what 
else could she — what else can any one — 
think?” 

“True,” said Philip, with a groan ; “I 
must have done it. Not that I ever 
intended to, but I certainly quarrelled with 
her on that wretched night. I must have 
done it, as Austin says. He is to go and 
find the books. If he finds the books, the 
thing’s evident. I’ve done it. I shall give 
it up.” 


the black-box murder. 


191 

He was talking more to himself than to 
me, but by this time I had got into his 
confidence. He was so utterly miserable 
and forlorn. 

What he said now quite fitted into my 
modified theory of the murder. I had had 
time to think of it, and I knew what I knew. 
It was evident to me that I had been right 
from the first. Philip Harvey was the man 
who had done the deed, and Philip Harvey 
alone. And yet, could he be said to have 
done it ? I believed implicitly in his good 
faith. There was no room for a denial of 
it. It was evident, then, that he must have 
committed his crime while in a state of 
delusion, caused by the action of the chloral 
on a brain already heated by drink. I saw 
nothing impossible in this explanation, al- 
though, of course, it was out of the common. 
I had had large experience of the various 
kinds of drunkenness, and knew what very 
extraordinary phases can be produced when 
it finds a nervous or highly imaginative 
temperament to work on. I had also come 


792 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

across a case of what must have been irre- 
gular function of the brain produced by 
chloral, and I had seen a man commit 
actions in that condition, of which he could 
render no account on the ensuing day. I 
could, therefore, accept Austin Harvey's 
theory, especially after his account of former 
similar experiences in his brothers life. It 
furnished the only satisfactory explanation 
of what seemed otherwise an incomprehen- 
sible difficulty. On the one hand, I fully 
believed that Philip had killed his aunt. 
On the other hand, I fully believed that he 
was unconscious of having done it. Some 
explanation must be forthcoming, and this 
seemed a perfectly plausible one. 

But, at the same time, I felt that no 
English jury would be got to take this view 
of the case. With a French jury, the man 
would have had a fair chance. They would 
have put Charcot into the witness-box. 
Now, the French of to day will believe 
any psychological marvel that Charcot 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. I93 

swears to ; and for Charcot, who has so 
cleverly appropriated, and scientifically 
legalized, all the mesmeric and magnetic 
“ quackeries ” that no doctor believed in 
till a doctor had stamped them — for Charcot 
there are no marvels in the field of psycho- 
logy. It is the impossible which is always 
happening. But no twelve sturdy, matter- 
of-fact Englishmen would ever be got to 
believe that a man might commit a murder 
and not remember he had done it. Be- 
sides, did not Philip foolishly and honestly 
admit that he remembered having words 
with his aunt, and pushing her out of the 
room ? Was he in the habit of pushing 
her? No, he had never dared to touch 
her in his life before. 

I felt that Austin was right. The best 
thing the man could do was to escape 
across the ocean. That morning early my 
mind had been quite made up to have him 
arrested immediately. I had given up all 
idea of blackmailing the family, and had 


13 


194 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


intended to cover myself with glory by 
publishing my own investigation of the case 
to the authorities and to the world. I re- 
solved now, not without a severe pang, 
to give all that up also. I somehow 
felt attracted to the unfortunate assassin, 
drunken and dissolute though he was ; or 
rather, I felt a kind of chivalrous longing 
that the guilty man should not be punished 
beyond the limits of his guilt. I would do 
my best to save him, and the family must 
acknowledge my services afterwards as 
would be thought fit by both parties. - 

“ I can satisfy your doubt about the 
books,” I said. u They are there. I have 
seen them with my own eyes. A cupboard 
in your dead aunt’s room is full of them.” 

I had hardly expected that this bit of in- 
formation would upset Philip as much as it 
did. His agitation proved to me how hard 
he was clinging to the idea of his possible 
innocence, and how unwilling he was to 
admit his brother’s theory of the murder. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 195 

“ It’s all up, then,” he stammered. 
“ Austin’s right. I must get away.” 

He stumbled to his feet. Great beads of 
perspiration stood out upon his forehead. 

“ Not now,” I said. “ Where are you 
going? Wait for your brother’s return.” 

He was near the door already, feeling 
his way like a man in the dark. Suddenly 
he stopped. 

“ But will my going throw the blame on 
Edith ? ” he asked. “ I’d rather swing a 
hundred times than do a hurt to Edith.” 

“ Miss Simpkinson is safe,” I said. 
“ They can bring no real evidence against 
her. And you can exculpate her as soon 
as you are on the other side. But you 
can’t get away at this moment. The day- 
boat is gone. Start for Calais this evening, 
then get down to Marseilles, and from 
thence try to reach one of the South 
American republics, as your brother sug- 
gests.” 

“ He won’t do it,” I said to myself, with 


196 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

a sigh. “ If the Government detectives 
are only half alive, he’ll never do it.” 

He allowed me to lead him back to his 
chair. He was utterly broken and miser- 
able. He asked me to ring for some 
brandy, but this I refused to do. 

“ You’ll want all your nerve,” I said; 
“ and, whatever you may fancy, you don’t 
get nerve from brandy. Let’s sit down 
and talk the matter over. You have ten 
hours yet before you start, and the quieter 
you keep in this room meanwhile, the 
better.” 

Thus I found myself unexpectedly turned 
into an ally of the very man whom I had 
been hunting down for the last four days. 
I began to feel quite an interest in his 
chances of escape. I could not deny to 
myself that they were very small. 

‘‘We must t you away,” I said, “and 
you must help us all you can.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


19 1 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE LATCH-KEY. 

And so we sat on, waiting for the evening, 
— it was barely mid-day as yet, — and talk- 
ing of the murder. We could not help 
talking of it. I started another subject 
every now and then, but we always 
reverted to the murder. 

I learned from Philip Harvey that his 
relations with his aunt had been of a very 
unequal character. When she was angry 
with him, she was very angry ; and when 
she was fond, she was very fond. She 
must have been a violent, ill-tempered 
woman, and I suspect that, in reality, and 
at the bottom of her heart, she had had a 
sneaking preference for the prodigal, good- 
for-nothing nephew, while she lavished her 
righteous approval on the respectable and 


198 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

sanctimonious one. It appeared to me 
that Philip had also not been without a 
certain liking for the stiff-necked, stingy old 
lady. He had certainly succeeded during 
her life-time in extracting considerable sums 
out of her closely-shut purse ; and I now 
learned, for the first time, that she had 
used the possible inheritance as a continual 
incitement and excitement at every step 
her nephews took. She alternated in her 
promises of favor, using them as so many 
means to make the two young men do 
exactly as she might think fit. It was, “ I 
shall leave my money to Philip, unless 
you,” etc., and, “ If you wish Austin to 
have every penny, then, Philip,” etc., some- 
times as often as half-a-dozen times a 
week. It was a dangerous game to play, 
and the end had been — murder! 

There had always been some tacit under- 
standing, all the same, that Austin, the 
eldest, was to come into the money, and 
this had proved to be correct. In fact, the 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


l 99 


proof had been given shortly before old 
Miss Raynell’s death, for, when Austin 
applied for Ediths hand in marriage, Mrs. 
Orr-Simpkinson, who, with all her nervous- 
ness and fussiness, was evidently a sharp 
enough woman of business, had allowed 
her answer to depend altogether on the 
certainty and satisfactoriness of the suitor’s 
financial prospects. She would probably 
have accepted Philip if Philip had been 
Miss Raynell’s heir ; but a preparatory 
flirtation between that gentleman and 
Edith had come to an abrupt and violent 
conclusion a day or two before the young 
lady accepted Austin. Mrs. Simpkinson 
had an interview with Miss Raynell, in 
which the spinster, bullied or cajoled in 
some way or other, was forced to confess 
(on paper) that Austin was her heir. It 
appeared that this was actually the case in 
accordance with her last will. She had 
made several wills. 

“ I believe the poor old girl repented 
afterwards,” said Philip, pulling away at his 


200 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


pipe. “ All the more so, for having been 
humbugged by Mrs. Simpkinson. She 
couldn’t bear being humbugged. She 
wanted me, I fancy — Well, never mind. 
She used to talk threateningly about 
having her own way in the end.” 

“ She did, did she ? ” said I. 

“ Indeed she did. But whatever my 
aunt’s way may have been, Mrs. Simpkin- 
son has had hers, damn it.” 

We sank into another spell of silent 
smoking after this, as we were constantly 
doing. My thoughts reverted to my visit 
to the trunk-makers, and once more I 
asked myself whether the proofs were suf- 
ficient that the box in Paris was Philip 
Harvey’s ? 

“ How is it, Mr. Harvey,” I asked, “ that 
the makers are not able to verify your 
purchase of one of their boxes from 
them ? ” 

“ Oh, that is very simple,” answered 
Philip. “ I had seen an advertisement of 
theirs, and as it described just the kind of 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


201 


thing I wanted, I looked in one day when 
I was in their neighborhood, and bought 
a box. I paid for it at the time, and took 
it away on a cab.” 

“ When was that ? ” I asked ; “ and 
where did you take it to ? ” 

“ Some two months ago. I drove 
straight down to Greenwich, where I had 
— and still have — my lodgings.” 

“ A long drive,” I said. My profession 
had naturally made me suspicious. 

“ Yes, but I had been getting a number 
of things, and I took them all down 
together.” 

“ And how often have you traveled with 
your box since ? ” 

“ Only twice. Once from Greenwich 
down to Southend, and then on last Mon- 
day morning from Southend to Dover — as 
I thought. When I got here, I found my 
key would not open the box I had with 
me. I thought something had gone wrong 
with the lock. I had it broken open ; it 


202 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


was full of photographic apparatus, which I 
at once recognized as Miss Simpkinsons 
property. I had a new lock put in, and 
forwarded the box to Miss Simpkinson 
next morning. I wrote and telegraphed to 
my brother. I thought at once that the 
boxes must have been exchanged. I knew 
Miss Simpkinson had one exactly like 
mine, because I had advised her to get it. 
I was most anxious she should not see 
some — some papers and things I had in 
my box. But I swear to you that I had 
no idea at the time that I had killed my 
aunt. I must have been mad.” 

“ Why, then, were you so much agitated 
when I first mentioned her name to you ? ” 

“ I — I had a haunting fear about me 
that I might have hurt her. I didn’t 
remember clearly, you see. I knew I had 
struck her, and I had heard nothing of her 
since that night.” 

“ And you believe now that you killed 
her ? ” He shuddered. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


203 


“ How can I help believing it ? ” he 
whispered. “ Austin says I did it. You 
say I did it. And the books are there to 
prove it.” 

“ No one but you can have gained 
access to the house on Sunday night 
except the landlady ? No one had a 
latch-key ? ” 

“ No,” said Philip. 

“ Miss Raynell had one. The landlady 
told me so.” 

“ Yes, that is true. She liked to go out 
in the morning, before any one was up. 
And she used sometimes to let me have it 
of nights.” 

“ Where was that key on Sunday night ? ” 

“ I had it,” said Philip. 

“ But you rang the front-door bell on 
coming home ? ” 

“Yes. To tell the truth, I was too — 
too elevated to remember I had the key.” 

“ But are you sure you had it with 
you?” 


204 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


“ Sure ? I took it out of my watch- 
pocket next morning, where I always keep 
it.” 

This baffled me. 

“ And are you sure that no one could 
have penetrated into the house ? Was 
there a chain across the front door ? ” 

“ No ; there was no chain, but the door 
was double-locked. What I call the latch- 
key was, in fact, just simply the door-key. 
There was no latch-key.” 

“ Humph ! ” I said. “ Then you left the 
house in the morning with your aunt’s dead 
body packed in the trunk. You are sure, 
of course, that you did not look into your 
box in the morning after waking ? ” 

“ Quite sure. I wished to open it, and I 
looked everywhere for the key, and could 
not find it. Ultimately Austin found it.” 

“ And where did Austin find it ? ” 

“ In my aunt’s room,” said Philip, almost 
in a whisper. “ Why deny it ? My guilt 


is sure. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


205 


“ Your guilt is sure,” I repeated, “as far 
as it goes. You left Southend, then, with 
the box? You met the Simpkinsons in 
London, and you, your brother Austin, 
Miss Simpkinson, her mother, and all your 
luggage, including the two boxes, traveled 
down to Dover together from Charing 
Cross ? Is that so ? ” 

“ No. Austin took us to the station 
only. The three of us started together. 
The Simpkinsons and their luggage were 
booked through to Paris. I was only 
going to Dover for a weeks fresh air.” 

“ And you remember packing the books 
in your box ? ” 

“ Yes. I had put them in on Saturday. 
I had left the box unlocked. I lifted the 
lid on Sunday night to throw in some 
letters, and I saw the books untouched. I 
then locked the box and corded it.” 

“What! You corded it on the Sunday 
night ? ” 

“Yes; I managed to do that somehow 


20 6 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

or other. I was very anxious no one 
should see the letters I had put in.” 

“ You are not a left-handed man, Mr. 
Harvey ? ” 

“ No. Why do you ask ? ” 

“ Who saw to the luggage at Charing 
Cross ? ” 

“ I did. But there was a great hurry 
and confusion. We were late. The 
boxes were thrown in anyhow. There 
might easily have been a mistake.” 

“ Why, and when, did you put that ‘ P. 
H.’ on your box ? ” 

Philip Harvey looked at me in surprise. 
“ I never put any ‘ P. H.’ on my box,” 
he said. “ It was not marked at all. 
That accounts for the confusion.” 

“ You wrote P. H. on the luggage-label. 
Is that also one of the things you did in a 
trance that night, I wonder ? ” 

“ I certainly never did it consciously,” 
said Philip ; “ but I no longer know what 
I have done or not done. I hardly know 
whether I am I.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


20 7 


I went downstairs to my room and got 
my fac-simile of the letters on Philip’s box, 
as also his card to Miss Simpkinson, his 
letter to his brother, and his brother’s letter 
to me. I brought them all down together. 


20 & 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


CHAPTER XX. 

“ P. H.” 

I drew a table up before Philip, and spread 
out before him my copy of his initials. 

“ Do you recognize those letters/’ I said, 
<c as similar to such as you would make ? ” 
“ Y es,” he answered : “ they are my 
handwriting. What of that ? ” 

“ They are your handwriting/’ I said, 
K and they are on your black box in Paris.” 

I unfolded the letter and the card, and 
once more compared them. I was not 
sorry for the break this scrutiny made in a 
conversation sufficiently difficult to keep 
up. I sat examining the various letters 
with a minuteness engendered by the want 
of something better to do. All of a sudden 
I broke out into an impetuous exclamation. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


209 


I could not help it. I seized my com- 
panion’s arm and shook it eagerly. 

“ Have you paper in this room ? ” I said. 
“ Ink ? Get them. Quick ! ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked Philip 
dazedly. 

“ Don’t ask. Get them. Is that an 
inkstand? That’s right. Now, write down 
your initials fifty times in succession, with- 
out stopping to take breath.” 

With a wondering look Philip obeyed. 
He spread out the letters across a great 
sheet of paper. I watched him breath- 
lessly. I steadied myself against his chair 
as he threw off line after line. This new 
idea of mine might be worth nothing at its 
best, but, if the writer’s hand swerved only 
once, it was lost altogether. At last the 
fiftieth signature was reached. I drew a 
long breath. I caught up the paper, and 
once more scanned it eagerly. I compared 
it with the letter and the card. I com- 
pared it with my copy of the luggage-label. 


14 


210 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


There could be no doubt that I had seen 
correctly. 

The letters on the luggage-label were 
very similar to those made by Philip 
Harvey, but they were not exactly like 
them. 

In the case of these letters the first 
stroke was drawn past the down stroke 
so as to form a blind loop in this manner, — 



In all Philip Harvey’s P’s and H’s, this 
flourish stopped short of the down stroke 
thus, — 



The difference, slight as it may appear, 
was there. Had Philip once drawn his 
stroke through and back again, I should, 
of course, have had nothing to say, but I 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


21 1 


had first noticed the peculiarity in the “ H ” 
of “ How jolly ” on the card, then I had 
turned to the letter and found it repeated 
there, and now I had before me fifty P H’s, 
not one of which showed the loop. It was 
almost incredible that a man who had so 
accustomed himself to making the letters 
of his name with one unalterable movement 
of the pen, should deviate from his rule in 
a solitary instance. I laid down the paper. 

“ That ‘ P.H.’ on your box,” I said, “ was 
not made by you. This would not matter 
much in itself, but it was made by some 
one who purposely imitated your handwrit- 
ing. That matters more/’ 

Philip did not care to attach much im- 
portance to this discovery. He was too 
broken-hearted at the thought of his guilt. 

“ Are you sure,” I asked, “ that those 
letters were not on your box before Sun- 
day night? Think clearly. It may be of 
the greatest importance.” 

Philip hesitated a little. Presently he 
said, — 


212 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


“ I am quite sure. More than that, now 
I think of it, I am quite sure they were not 
on the box when I started from Southend 
on Monday morning. I distinctly remem- 
ber seeing the old ‘ Greenwich ’ label, and 
wishing I had removed it. I should have 
noticed if there were letters on it. How 
were they made ? ” 

“ They had been hurriedly drawn on the 
label. They were rather thick, and must 
have been plainly visible before the Paris 
paper was pasted over them. The paste 
very much obliterated the pencil marks, and 
at present they are rather faint.” 

“ They were not there,” said Philip, 
“ when I left Southend.” 

“ The conclusion is this,” I replied : 
“ Some one has thought it worth his while 
to mark your box on Monday morning with 
the initials of your name in conscious imita- 
tion of your handwriting. It was that 
person’s" aim that the box should be recog- 
nized as yours. He had not realized the 
possibility of the porters at the station 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


213 


sticking the new label over the old one. 
This, however, they actually did. Philip 
Harvey, that person, whoever he may be, 
knew of the contents of the black box.” 

Philip Harvey continued to stare stupidly 
at me. 

“ I have always fancied/’ I continued, 
“ from the very first that the correct clue 
would start from these two letters on the 
luggage-label which I discovered on that 
Monday evening in the police-station. 
Perhaps it is a superstition, but there the 
idea is. Perhaps it will prove correct, after 
all. I begin to doubt more and more 
whether the story of this murder is as 
simple as we have always believed it. I 
begin to doubt whether you, Philip Harvey, 
are really the murderer. My first duty,’’ 
I said, after a painful pause, “ is now to go 
back to Paris, and once more closely 
examine the letters on the box. I am not 
enough of an expert ; I shall have to 
consult one. I shall accompany you to- 
night” * 


214 the black-box murder . 

“It is a very vague supposition to go 
on,” said Philip. 

“ I do not think so,” I answered. “ Some 
one must have traced those letters, proba- 
bly between Southend and Dover. That 
some one knew all about the murder. We 
must find out who he is.” 


7 HE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


2I 5 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE BOX AGAIN. 

That evening we crossed. 

We had not been able to wait for Aus- 
tin’s return. Something must have kept 
him, for, when the moment came, he was 
not there. I decided that it would be un- 
wise to wait any longer. The police might 
be down on Philip Harvey at any moment, 
and so I persuaded him to come away with 
me that very night. I myself was now 
entirely upset and nonplussed. From the 
very first I had fastened my suspicions on 
the “ P. H.,” who had turned out to be 
Philip Harvey, and I had left no room for 
a doubt. Now I began to ask myself 
whether I had not been mistaken all along. 
I began to believe that, possibly, Philip 
Harvey might be altogether innocent, and 


216 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


I had absolutely no one to take his place. 

I sat stupidly staring at the letters I had 
in my possession, or at the luggage-label I 
had that morning taken out of Austin Har- 
vey’s overcoat. How did that particular 
label come in that particular place ? What 
did it matter ? The question still remained, 
— Who was the murderer ? And after a 
week’s hard work and seeming complete 
success, that question seemed further than 
ever removed from a satisfactory conclusion. 
We had a terrible journey. Philip was 
nervous, and saw spies and detectives 
everywhere. I found it as much as I could 
manage to keep him from betraying himself 
a dozen times over to a number of perfectly 
innocent people, who would have been much 
at a loss what to do with their unexpected 
capture. I felt confident, from what I saw, 
that he was not yet under any supervision, 
and my only anxiety was lest he should 
himself facilitate the work of the blood- 
hounds who must be already on his track. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 217 

I was most anxious to get him out of the 
country, for I could not help confessing that, 
although I personally was beginning to 
doubt his guilt, all the indications against 
him still remained in full force. And then 
I suddenly asked myself whether, perhaps, 
after all, I was helping the real murderer 
to escape ? Altogether, I felt completely 
at a loss. 

At Paris, we agreed he was to have 
twenty-four hours’ rest, and to wait for his 
brother, for whom he had left a discreetly- 
worded note at the Dover hostelry. The 
only question was, would Austin come over 
on the Sunday ? I may add that, to be 
ready for subsequent inquiries, Philip had 
taken a ticket for London at the Dover 
station, while I had asked for the two Paris 
tickets, and registered all the luggage — not 
much — as if it were mine. 

When we reached Paris, we immediately 
drove to a quiet, out-of-the-way hotel, Philip 
with many anxieties and sudden shrinking^ 


2i8 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

into dark passages and cab-corners. All 
the bluster had gone out of him. He was 
terribly impressed by the idea of the mur- 
der. He quite believed, as far as I could 
make out, that he had done it in the way 
described by Austin, and he kept mutter- 
ing to himself, “ The books ! the books ! ” 
It was evident that he considered the dis- 
covery of the books in his aunt’s cupboard 
as the strongest proof of his guilt. They 
proved, more than anything else, that he 
did not remember what he had been doing ; 
that he had acted under the influence of 
delusion on that Sunday night. 

“Nonsense,” said I. “ They seem to 
prove, and a good many things seem to 
prove, that the murder was committed that 
night in the house, and that the corpse was 
packed away into your box in the house. 
That’s all." 

“ But there was no one in the house all 
night except we two and the landlady. 
You don’t think the landlady killed her ? ” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


219 


u Hardly,” I said. 

“Well, there was no one else in the 
house. There could not have been.” 

“ That remains to be proved,” said I. 

It was Sunday morning — a warm, beau- 
tiful morning. As soon as I had deposited 
my charge in comparative safety, I went in 
search of my old friend, Leon Dubert. It 
was almost a week since I had seen him. 
How much had happened in that time ! 

I found him in his office, for it was almost 
ten o’clock when I got there. Of course he 
was delighted to see me. Frenchmen 
always are delighted to see you, even when 
they have made up their minds never on 
any account to see you again. For all that, 
I think he rather wished I would leave off 
meddling with the black-box tragedy. I 
believe he considered my behavior unpro- 
fessional. 

“ But, my dear Monsieur Dubert,” I said, 
“ how far are you ? Have you caught the 
man ? ” 


220 


THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 


“It is no affair of mine,” he answered 
petulantly. “ You had better ask Fran- 
9ois. Your countrymen are busy with it. 
They consider themselves wonderfully 
intelligent, I believe.” 

* International rivalries,” I said to my- 
self. “ So much the better for Harvey.” 

I gained permission, through Francois 
Dubert, to see the black box again. I told 
him frankly that I thought I had an impor- 
tant clue. I trembled with expectation as 
the commissary fumbled about the door of 
the room where the box was kept. Sup- 
posing I had been mistaken ? Supposing 
I had taken my copy accurately, no doubt, 
yet not sufficiently accurately to preclude 
so slight an alteration? It was such a 
little thing. I rushed forward as soon as 
the door was opened. There stood the 
fateful box, black and grim, with its hideous 
unknown story. Fortunately no one had 
touched it. It had been photographed, 
that was all. The “ Greenwich to South- 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


221 


end ” label was turned towards me. I 
examined it closely. Faint as the pencilled 
letters upon it were, there would be no 
mistaking their shape. They had origin- 
ally been deeply marked with a soft lead 
pencil — 



I had copied them correctly. The loop 
was there. 

I carefully scrutinized the box once more. 
I could find nothing of any special interest. 
But looking now by daylight — bright, sunny 
daylight — I found a shiny place, from which 
another label, insufficiently attached, might 
have dropped or been torn away. There 
was, I found, on wetting my finger, a slight 
stickiness still. That settled the matter. 
A luggage-label had been affixed at South- 
end. It had either dropped off or been 
torn off before the box reached Paris. In 
all probability it had been torn off. If this 


222 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


was the case, the occurrence would prob- 
ably have taken place before the box left 
London. One of my reasons for thinking 
this was as follow. I give it for what it was 
worth ; — 

The porter who had stuck on the “ Lon- 
don to Paris ” label had neatly covered up 
the old “ Greenwich to Southend ” one. 
He was, then, a most unusual porter, who 
made a point of tidiness and accuracy in 
these matters. If there had been another 
old label on the box at the time, he would 
probably have covered that up also, instead 
of sticking the great “ P ” label on a fresh 
place. I presumed, then, that there was 
no other labels on the box. The argument 
was not valuable. I did not consider it so. 
It sufficed, with the natural probability, to 
allow me to presume that the label had been 
torn off before the box left London. I had 
found a label marked u Southend to Lon- 
don,” pushed down and forgotten in Austin 
Harvey’s coat-pocket. It was the very 
label that was missing. 


THE BLACKBOX MURDER . 


223 


Austin Harvey had accompanied the 
others to the railway station at Charing 
Cross, and there taken leave of them. Was 
it he who had torn off the label ? And if 
he had done this, was it he who had marked 
the letters “ P. H.” on Philips box ? If so, 
why had he done it ? 

I hurriedly took from my pocket-book 
the letter which Austin Harvey had written 
me, I went with it to the full light of the 
window. The letters were made altogether 
differently from those on the box. There 
was a capital H in it, which looked more 
like a printed letter. It was formed thus, 



There were loops everywhere, 


but not a single blind one . 

I got an expert, through Francois Hu- 
bert’ s assistance, and the letters were sub- 
mitted to him. I do not much believe in 
experts in handwriting. Three of them 
always disagree, and they are, none the 
less, always most obstinate in their opinions 
—just like doctors. 


224 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

This man — a Frenchman, of course — had 
only the two letters to go by. He declared, 
none the less, most positively, that they 
were not written by Philip Harvey. The 
graphological difference between the twist- 
ed loop and the straight stroke was far too 
great to render this doubtful. He declared 
also — perhaps a shade less positively — that 
they had not been written by Austin Har- 
vey, because Austin Harvey never made a 
blind loop. He considered this even of 
more importance than the entire difference 
of shape. 

I paid the man, with considerable dis- 
gust, and started off to see whether I could 
get admitted to Miss Simpkinson. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


225 


CHAPTER XXII. 

miss simpkinson’s opinion. 

The police had not been able to retain 
Miss Simpkinson in close confinement. 
No new accusations had been brought for- 
ward against her, and the arrival of her 
own box, which had been sent on by Philip 
from Dover, had sufficiently proved the 
truth of the explanations which her maid 
had propounded from the first. The Lon- 
don detectives had, of course, set them- 
selves to discover the person who had for- 
warded the box from Dover, and nothing 
would have been easier had they not been 
hampered from the first, and sent on a 
wrong track by the people at Dover 
Station. Mrs. Simpkinson had remained 
for four days in a state of such nervous 
15 


226 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


exhaustion that the doctors had forbidden 
her being examined during that time. 

I could not help smiling malignantly 
when I heard that the authorities were 
pursuing a bald-headed old gentleman in a 
white waistcoat, who was to land at New 
York on Saturday. This was the fault of 
the Dover people. I now saw what an 
advantage it had been to me all along that 
Philip Harvey s name did not occur on the 
books of the makers of the box. Still, the 
delay could only be a question of a few 
days. Had the Government officials been 
shrewd, they would have been aware half a 
week ago that Philip Harvey had slept in 
the house with his aunt the night she was 
murdered. As a fact, I found afterwards 
they did know — just too late. They 
turned up at the “ Saracen's Head ” the 
day after we had left it, and then hurried 
back to Philips London lodgings. Mrs. 
Simpkinson, namely, was examined on 
Saturday afternoon, and she immediately 


THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 


227 


denounced Philip Harvey as the probable 
murderer. 

One thing I learned in Paris with con- 
siderable surprise. It was that Austin 
Harvey, who had been so frank in his con- 
duct towards me, had observed a most 
hampering reticence in his relations with 
the authorities. They had drawn very 
little out of him, and that little had required 
an immense amount of drawing. They 
believed, as Francois told me, that Austin 
really knew very little about the matter. 
Said the commissary to me, — 

“ He is foreign to the whole intrigue/' 

It appeared to me, judging from what I 
saw, as if Austin had, for some reason 
or other, wished me to know as much as 
possible about the whole matter, while he 
strove to keep the Government detectives 
in the dark. But what reason could he 
have for such an extraordinary course of 
action ? 

The French police had allowed Miss 
Simpkinson to leave the “ pension/' where 


228 


THE BLACHE OX MURDER. 


I had first found her, and to take up her 
quarters with her mother in a quiet little 
hotel between the Madeleine and the Parc 
Monceau. Mrs. Sinipkinson had been 
moved in on Friday night. The British 
Embassy had remained surety for the good 
behavior of the prisoners, and they had 
expressly undertaken not. to leave Paris. 
It was in this hotel that I found Miss 
Simpkinson, access having been gained 
with very little difficulty. I was startled 
by the first look at her face. She had 
evidently suffered much during the last 
terrible week. And no wonder. Whether 
she still cared for Philip, or whether she 
had only played with him before she chose 
his brother — in any case, her position was 
a truly frightful one. She was engaged to 
be married to Austin, and there was murder 
in the family. Had she ever loved Philip ? 
He evidently believed she had. And if so, 
why had she accepted Austin ? She was 
not a woman to let herself be influenced to 
such an extent, even by her own mother. 


THE BLACICBOX MURDER. 229 

On the other hand, she was a woman who 
could do almost anything from a caprice of 
offended pride. I trusted to this interview 
for obtaining an elucidation of some of my 
difficulties. 

She had a haunted look in her dark 
eyes, but she asked me to be seated with a 
certain air of not undignified reserve. Poor 
girl ! She must have been consumed with 
anxiety to know what I had to tell. And 
yet she seemed too proud to put a question. 
A woman of infinite possibilities. 

“ I am here,” I said, as I sat down, 
“with Philip Harvey, Miss Simpkinson.” 

“ Indeed ! ” said Miss Simpkinson, 
smoothing her dress down. “ And what 
has Mr. Harvey come to Paris for ? ” 

“He has come to Paris because he is 
flying from England.” 

“ Why is he flying ? ” said Miss Simp- 
kinson. “ And where is he flying to ? ” 

“ Let me take the last question first. 
He hopes to reach Marseilles to-morrow 


230 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


morning, and from thence to get away to 

some American State. In that case ” 

“ Will he do it ? ” cried Miss Simpkin- 
son, starting out of her reserve 
“ I hope so. I expect so.” 

“ Thank God ! ” said Miss Simpkinson, 
and sank back into her reserve again. 

“ Still, I must admit that nothing can be 
said with certainty. To tell the truth, my 
dear lady, the police ought to have caught 
him two or three days ago. Now they 
have not done so, nothing can be affirmed 
with certainty.” 

“ Let us hope he will succeed ” said Miss 
Simpkinson. 

I saw we should get no further with all 
this fencing. Besides, it is a thing I detest. 
I attribute my success in the one or two 
cases I nave managed, largely to my habit 
of going straight at the mark. 

“ Amen to that,” I said coolly. “ It’s 
Paraguay or the gallows ! ” 

Miss Simpkinson grew very pale, but 
said nothing. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


231 


“ And that’s all the more awful,” I went 
on, “ because I fancy he’s innocent.” 

This brought her round. She sprang 
up, her eyes ablaze with mingled hope and 
fear. 

“ Innocent ! ” she shrieked. “ How so ? 
What do you mean? I would give all* I 
possess to know him innocent ! ” 

I did not answer her straightway. 

“ Do you then, also,” I said, “ believe 
him guilty ? ” 

How can I help it?” she burst out. 
tC Whatever my heart may say, my reason 
follows proof. Are not all the facts against 
him ? Is his crime not as good as proved ? 
Who did it, if not he ? Would any jury 
acquit him ? ” 

“ I fear not,” I said — Miss Simpkinson 
winced — ■“ yet I tell myself he is innocent 
all the same.” 

“ And your proofs ? ” said Miss Simp- 
kinson. Of course she was yearning to 
have them. “ Whom do you suspect ? ” 
she asked. 


232 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


“ Let me ask you a question first,” I said. 
“ Upon your soul and honor, by all that 
you hold most sacred, do you suspect any 
one ? ” 

“ No,” she said, in surprise ; u unless it 
be Philip. My heart rebels against the 
thought, but my brain just simply proves 
it’s Philip.” 

We had got much more confidential 
already, you see. I believed in her good 
faith. I was very sorry to see she could 
give me no assistance. 

“ Excuse my seeming indiscretion,” I 
said, “ but it would be of the greatest im- 
portance to me if you could briefly inform 
me what led to your rupture with Philip 
Harvey, and your subsequent engagement 
to his brother.” 

Miss Simpkinson blushed scarlet. 

“ I was never engaged to Philip Harvey,” 
she said. It is impossible that you should 
ever have heard such a story. I must beg 
you to change the subject.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


2 33 


Too strong-willed to show her emotion, 
Miss Simpkinson shaded her eyes with her 
hand. The hand trembled. It was vain 
to attempt to get much out of Miss Simp- 
kinson. Nevertheless, before I left her, 
she had betrayed to me what I wanted to 
know. She loved Philip Harvey, and 
therefore, presumably, did not care for 
Austin. How incomprehensible these 
women are ! Combining this discovery 
with what Philip had admitted, I thought I 
began to understand. Doubtless Miss 
Simpkinson, offended in her deepest and 
truest instincts by some infidelity of her 
scapegrace lovers, had avenged herself 
upon him by publicly accepting his brother. 
Her mother’s continued pressure may have 
facilitated — it would never have prompted 
the step. Headstrong and passionate as 
the girl was, I could well understand her 
resentment thus precipitating her into fresh 
misfortune. I did not believe she wanted 
to marry Austin. I still less believed his 
small fortune would ever have tempted her. 


234 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

I could not help wondering whether he had 
been able in any way to determine her 
behavior. 

“ I believe Philip is innocent/’ I repeated 
on leaving ; “ but, as yet, I have no man to 
take his place. My suspicions are of the 
vaguest.” 

Suddenly I drew the copy of the letters 
“ P. H.” from my pocket. 

“ Is that Philip Harvey’s handwriting ? ” 
I asked ; “ or is it Austin’s ? ” 

How can I judge from two letters ? ” 
said Miss Simpkinson immediately. “ It is 
absurd to expect me to. I should say that 
the shape of the letters was Philip’s, but 
that the character of the writing was deci- 
dedly Austin’s.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


235 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A FRESH TRACK. 

Miss Simpkinson had expressed a desire to 
see Philip. She would probably have 
penetrated into his presence had she known 
where to find him. As this would almost 
certainly have meant his immediate arrest, 
I was careful to keep her in ignorance, and, 
fortunately for us all, Philip himself too fully 
realized the danger of his position to re- 
monstrate after I had explained to him 
that it could not be. He really was not 
such a bad fellow, was Philip, and I began 
to be heartily sorry for him. 

I returned to my hotel with all possible 
precautions. There was now nothing more 
to be done. I had attained the object for 
which I had come to Paris. My fac-simile 
had proved correct ; the distinction was 
there ; the letters on the box had not been 
traced by Philip Harvey. 


236 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

There was no denying it. And, incre- 
dible as the thing might seem, once admit 
that the writing was not Philips, and cir- 
cumstances — my own reasoning, Miss 
Simpkinson’s momentous testimony — all 
seemed inevitably to point to the conclu- 
sion that it must be Austin’s. The expert 
had said it was not ; but I did not think 
much of the expert. For the moment, 
then, there was nothing to be done but to 
get Philip away to Marseilles. Austin came 
over in the afternoon, — Sunday afternoon 
though it was, — ignoring, in the all-engross- 
ing excitement of the moment, every 
decency of Sabbath observance. He 
joined us at our hotel. He could only 
confirm my statement that the cupboard in 
his dead aunt’s room was full of Philip’s 
books — the very books which Philip 
declared he had packed in his box on 
Saturday. Even the love-letters and 
tokens had been found there. Austin 
produced them as a proof of his veracity, 
and held them out to his brother. Never, 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 237 

till I saw Philips face at that moment, had 
I realized to what extent a man can hope 
against hope. We took the poor fellow to 
the Gare de Lyon, and saw him start with 
the Rapide. Austin had provided him 
with the sum of one hundred pounds, and 
had promised to let him have two hundred 
more upon his arrival at Monte Video. 
We had decided on the Argentine Republic. 
As the train was beginning to glide out of 
the big station, Philip leaned forward out 
of the carriage window. 

“ Austin,” he said, “ I half wonder — I — 
Austin, do you really believe I did it ? ” 

Austin Harvey burst into tears. No 
other word was spoken. The train passed 
onward out of reach. I got Austin away 
from the crowd of curious spectators as 
quickly as possible. 

“ Pauvre ami ! ” I heard one gentleman 
say. “ His brother, no doubt.” 

As we drove towards the Northern Sta- 
tion — for we were to start for England 
immediately with the night mail — I asked 


238 THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 

whether the police had actually not yet 
taken possession of the house in Marine 
Parade, where the murder must have been 
committed. 

“ Oh, yes,” said Austin ; “ it appears 
they have been inquiring there yesterday. 
A man was watching the house as I came 
out.” 

“ He will be arrested at Marseilles,” I 
said. 

Austin turned pale and clutched my 
arm. 

“ You don’t mean it ? ” he cried. “ You 
can’t mean it.” He burst into tears afresh. 
He was dreadfully unnerved. 

When we reached the station, he declared 
his intention of getting the tickets for us 
both. He went to the booking-office and 
asked for them. I stood watching him for 
want of something better to do, and because, 
since that morning, I felt a new interest in 
Austin Harvey. I saw him take out his 
pocket-book ; I saw him pay the money ; 
I saw him gather up the tickets and the 


THE BLACKBOX MURDER . 239 

change. And he did all this with his left 
hand. He was not an invariably left- 
handed man, of that I am quite certain ; 
but now I saw him with my own eyes use 
his left hand instead of his right. From 
that moment I felt that, in spite of all seem- 
ing contradictions and impossibilities, Aus- 
tin Harvey would prove to be the mur- 
derer. 


240 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

poor lucy’s evidence. 

At Charing Cross we parted. Austin was 
going back to his parochial work : his rector 
had, unwillingly enough, done without him 
on the Sunday already. I was to wait in 
London for news of Philip’s embarkment. 

“ There is no extradition treaty, you 
know,” Austin had said to me as we steamed 
on through the Kent hop-gardens. “ As 
soon as we know he is safe, we will give 
the story to the world, with all its extenu- 
ating circumstances. It is barely man- 
slaughter. And far better to tell the 
simple truth than to try in vain to keep it 
back.” 

“ The police will save you all trouble on 
that score,” I answered. “ They will 
accuse your brother publicly long before he 
gets to Monte Video.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


241 


“If you think that, what are we to dp ? ” 
said Austin. 

I did not answer him. What to do, 
indeed ! It was the question I was asking 
myself unceasingly. The more I watched 
my man, the more I saw that he was only 
very partially left handed. The peculiarity 
was evidently but the remnant of a boyish 
habit, which the man had almost entirely 
overcome. It came out again under the 
influence of excitement. This accounted 
for my not having noticed it on the few 
occasions when we had been thrown to- 
gether. We parted, as I have said, at 
Charing Cross, and I went home to my 
lodgings. I could do nothing at present, 
and yet I felt that I must not rest till I had 
got at the truth. How could Austin Har- 
vey have killed his aunt ? When ? Where ? 
Had it not been proved beyond all doubt 
that Miss Raynell and Philip had slept in 
the house on that Sunday night, and that 
the box with the dead body had passed out 
of it on the Monday morning ? Austin had 


242 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

called for his brother before breakfast ; but 
it was quite certain that at that hour the 
murder had already been committed. The 
mystery seemed greater than ever. I 
began almost to despair of ever seeing it 
satisfactorily cleared up. 

I worked it out for myself, nevertheless, 
doggedly, getting as far as I could. 

It was not my fault if I had gone wrong 
from the first. All the circumstantial 
evidence had closed in upon Philip. There 
was not a soul on earth, not Philip himself, 
not Miss Simpkinson — least of all the 
authorities — who in any way suspected the 
clergyman. There had been — there still 
were — no reasons for suspecting him. And 
had I sufficient reason even now ? 

It would not be gainsaid that, if Austin 
Harvey had really murdered his aunt, he 
must be one of the most consummate actors 
and unmitigated scoundrels in the three 
kingdoms. For it was evident that he had 
labored hard to convince both Philip and 
myself that Philip was the guilty man. He 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER, 


243 


had patiently striven to instil into his bro- 
ther’s drink-fuddled brain the theory of an 
unintentional and almost unconscious crime ; 
and, with circumstances and past exper- 
iences helping him to a large extent, he had 
found the task a comparatively easy one. 
I could understand the way in which he had 
played upon Philip, but I could not under- 
stand as yet how he had found an oppor- 
tunity of committing the crime. About 
the motive, which had remained such a 
puzzle in Philip’s case, there was no diffi- 
culty here. Austin must have had reason 
to fear that his aunt would definitely make 
arrangements to bring about a match be- 
tween his brother and Edith. The theory 
that Philip should have killed the old lady 
in anger had never quite satisfied me. But 
a clergyman ! And such a charming, frank- 
mannered fellow, with his bright eyes and 
kindly voice. I felt that I must have 
irresistible evidence before I could convince 
even myself that I was not on the wrong 
track again. On the other hand, I felt 


244 


THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 


equally strongly that, if the charge was true, 
the villain must not escape me. Never 
had craven wretch a truer claim on the 
gallows. I must find out where Austin 
Harvey had been all through that Sunday 
night. I must prove an alibi. Nothing 
ought to be easier, if he was innocent. Till 
I had settled that, I could neither rest nor 
sleep. 


I determined to start for Southend imme- 
diately. I had got into London at 6 a.m., 
and thrown myself on my bed for a couple 
of hours. I started up again. By ten I 
was on my way to the little town. I tele- 
graphed to Austin Harvey, saying I should 
be with him at five. That would leave me 
several hours free to start with. I was 
afraid of meeting him unawares in the 
streets, and arousing his suspicions, if I did 
not let him know. 

As soon as I had sent my telegram, I 
felt that I had done a stupid thing. I 


THE BLACK- BOX MURDER. 


245 


recount this little incident, because I am 
anxious to describe everything exactly as 
it occurred. I realized that, if I was to 
find out anything in Southend, my investi- 
gations must start from the house where 
Austin lived, and I must find out what I 
could about and from his immediate sur- 
roundings. To do so it was desirable that 
he should be called away from the spot 
rather than put on his guard and requested 
to remain there. I immediately sent a 
second telegram, begging him to come up 
to London on important business, and bid- 
ding him wait in my rooms, in case of my 
absence, till ten o’clock at night. 

By ten o’clock I did not doubt I should 
have important business to transact with 
him. I got out at an intermediate station, 
looked up the time-table, and waited till 
the train had passed which might fairly be 
presumed to be bearing Austin up to Lon- 
don. Then I got into the next down train. 
It was three o’clock by the time I reached 
Southend. 


246 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

Nothing was easier than to find out the 
address of the curate of St. Mary the Vir- 
gin’s. The first porter at the station showed 
me the church, and from the church I was 
immediately directed to the parson. It 
struck me that he lived at a considerable 
distance from it. I little thought at the 
time that this question of distance was soon 
to become of such moment. I reached 
Austin’s house after ten minutes’ brisk 
walk ; it must have been quite half a mile 
away on the farther side of the town. The 
road in which he lived was called Delacy 
Crescent, and his landlady, I had been 
told, was a Mrs. Hopkins. 

I must be excused for introducing another 
landlady. I cannot help myself. By a 
strange coincidence, all the persons con- 
nected with this murder had been living in 
lodgings at the time of its occurrence — Miss 
Raynell, the two Harveys, the two Simp- 
kinsons. I accordingly found myself con- 
fronted with landladies at every step. They 
might have been very useful to me, perhaps. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 247 

In the got-up stories of crime they always 
are. As a matter of fact, in my case, I 
obtained no help from them whatever. 

I asked for Austin Harvey, and heard, 
as I expected to hear, that he had gone 
out. Further questioning about his prob- 
able movements revealed that he had 
received two telegrams, and had left the 
house almost immediately afterwards. So 
far, so good. 

Mrs. Hopkins was not unnaturally curious 
about the telegrams. I regretted that I 
was unable to afford her any information. 
In revenge I plied her with cautious ques- 
tions about the Rev. Austin. I found her 
voluble . The Rev. Austin was, it appeared, 
in every sense of the word, a “ model ” 
clergyman and lodger, “ quite the “ gentle- 
man,” and “ such a nice-looking, good 
young man.” If anything, he had a weak- 
ness for the softer sex. “ Quite the man 
for the ladies, sir,” said good Mrs. Hop- 
kins, “ as, in fact, every curate ought to 
be.” 


248 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

The question of the clergyman’s habits, 
important as it might seem, was still one of 
secondary interest to me. The matter 
of real moment remained. Could it be 
proved that he had spent the night of Sun- 
day at home, in his own room ? If so, 
I must begin the whole inquiry over 
again. 

Mrs. Hopkins was hospitable. She 
invited me into her parlor, and gave me a 
glass of currant wine and a biscuit. She 
introduced me to her daughter, Lucy, 
nineteen, yellow fringe, and an impudent 
little nose. I was very glad to make the 
acquaintance of Lucy. I thought that, 
perhaps, she might be useful to me, as 
indeed she was — at the same time I did 
not make much progress. It was difficult 
to get at the truth without betraying my- 
self. More than that, I soon saw it was 
impossible, so I spoke out as 1 had done 
with the woman in whose house the mur- 
der had been committed. Why not ? I 
must clear up the whole matter to-day. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


249 


Within twenty-four hours, Austin Harvey 
would know all the particulars of my con- 
versation with Mrs. Hopkins. True, but 
before twenty-four hours were over, I must 
know definitely whether Austin Harvey 
was the murderer or not. 

“ Mrs. Hopkins,” I said, <c I am a 
detective. Miss Raynell, as you are aware, 
has been murdered. Mr. Harvey is her 
heir. He has probably nothing to do with 
the crime, but to bring that out, once for 
all, it is important he should be able to 
prove that he did not leave this house 
during the night on which the crime was 
committed.” 

I saw the girl start. She avoided my 
eyes, however, and sat looking out of the 
window. Mrs. Hopkins required a moment 
or two to recover from her amazement, but 
when she found breath, she burst into a 
volley of exclamations and protestations, 
which I calmly allowed to rattle past. At 
length, she calmed down sufficiently, and I 
gathered from her the following facts: — 


250 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

The Rev. Austin had officiated at evening 
service on Sunday. He had preached. 
Mrs. Hopkins and Lucy had heard him. 
The service was over by half-past eight. 
Then there had been a mission service in 
the schoolroom. Lucy had remained for 
it. It had lasted till about 9.30, or a little 
later. Miss Lucy had come immediately 
after it was over, and had been in the 
house before ten. Both mother and 
daughter were sure of this, and Austin had 
come in shortly after her. He had rung at 
the front-door, and Mrs. Hopkins herself 
had admitted him. He looked tired and 
worried, and was very pale. He had said 
to her on the stairs, “ I have been delayed 
a few moments after the meeting by some 
people wanting to speak to me, otherwise I 
should have been glad to see your daughter 
home. It is not half-past ten yet, is it? ” 
and Mrs. Hopkins, looking at the clock in 
the hall, had said, “ J ust on the stroke, 
sir ; ” and, as she said these words, the 
clock had struck. She remembered all 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


2Si 


this distinctly — the more so because of the 
talk about the murder afterwards. Mr. 
Harvey had said, “ Well, good-night, I’m 
very tired,” and he had gone up and locked 
himself into his bedroom. 

All this was very disappointing. Ac- 
cording to all probability, the murder had 
been committed early in the night, before 
the unfortunate lady had attempted to 
undress. I had come to this conclusion in 
spite of the tumbled bed and emptied glass. 
I believe that these accessories had merely 
been used to lead the investigation astray. 
The deed had not been done in the morn- 
ing — it must, then, have been done before 
midnight. 

If Austin was concerned in it, he must, 
accordingly, have left his rooms again and 
betaken himself to the Marine Parade. 
Now, though I must verify my dis- 
tances, I knew already that if Austin’s 
lodgings were about half a mile from the 
church, the house on the Marine Parade 
must be at least a mile farther yet, on the 


252 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


opposite side. Austin’s church, and, still 
more, his apartments, were altogether out- 
side the town, in a suburb. It was quite 
impossible that he could have got to his 
aunt’s house and back in barely three- 
quarters of an hour. 

“ All that proves nothing,” I said : “ what 
I want to know is, was he in his room all 
night?” 

Again I saw the daughter start. 

“And of course,” said Mrs. Hopkins, 
indignantly ; “ and where else should a 
gentleman be, pray? And what do you 
mean coming and asking such questions ? 
I went up to my own bed at eleven, and I 
heard him breathing heavily in his sleep, 
which is a way he has ; and next morning 
he got his hot water regular ; and I, who 
sleep as light as a feather, as if I shouldn’t 
have heard, indeed, if gentlemen were to 
go walking about the house at night.” 

Mrs. Hopkins was very much ruffled. 

“ All the same,” I said coolly ; “ we want 
proof.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 253 

Mrs. Hopkins sniffed angrily. I rose to 
take my leave. There was nothing more 
to be got out of the landlady. The girl, 
Lucy, jumped up from her seat simulta- 
neously, and ran forward. 

“ Don’t you trouble, mother,” she said ; 
“ I’ll let the gentleman out.” 

As we passed into the hall, she closed 
the parlor door behind her. Then she 
faced me, 

“ Is he accused ? ” she gasped ; “ is he 
in danger ? ” 

I saw my chance, and caught at it. 

“In very great danger,” I said impres- 
sively, “ unless we can get to know exactly 
what he did that night.” 

The girl faltered. Her color came and 
went. She made once or twice as if she 
would speak, and stopped short. 

“ All depends on that,” I said. 

“ He never left the house,” she burst out 
suddenly ; “ I know he never did.” 

“ Ah, well, my dear,” I said ; “ but do 
you know it ? ” 


254 THE B I. AC K BOX MURDER . 

“ I do,” she hissed. “ Never mind. 
Don’t ask me. We were to have been 
married. I had never, never listened to 
him before. Don’t tell my mother. He 
promised me. There, I’ve ruined myself 
to save him — but he never left the house 
till eight o’clock next day.” 

She began to sob so violently that I had 
to hurry off and leave her in the hall, much 
to my regret. I was afraid her mother 
would find us there together. It would 
have been extremely awkward. 


THE BLACHE OX MURDER, 


*55 


CHAPTER XXV, 

THE ARREST. 

As I left the house, and walked down the 
crescent, two results of my vfsit stood out 
clearly in my mind. The first was this : 
That it seemed, humanly speaking, entirely 
impossible that Austin Harvey could have 
been concerned in the murder. And the 
second was this, that, morally, at anyrate, 
the man might be considered capable of the 
crime. His sweetness, his powers of 
pleasing — all that had attracted and 
blinded me — all this was a mask, far more 
effective even than his profession and 
clerical dress. The man was a scoundrel. 

This discovery, or rather this confirma- 
tion of the vague disquiet of the last twenty- 
four hours, brought the possibility of 
Austin Harvey’s guilt so much the nearer 


256 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER, 

at the very moment when the actual facts 
seemed to remove it altogether beyond my 
grasp. I walked over the distance, and 
carefully measured them. My worst fears 
proved true. Austin lived more than a 
mile and a half from his aunts lodgings, 
and his church stood at about one-third of 
the whole distance from his house. If it 
was true, as the girl had said — and I had 
no reason to doubt her — that he had not 
left the house all night after he had once 
returned to it from the evening service, 
then the only time which I had not yet 
fully accounted for was the period from 
9.45 to 10.30. Surely it was utterly im- 
possible that he could in that time have 
walked two miles and a half, and done all 
that he had to do in the house. 

Was he, then, innocent ? I knew he was 
not. There seemed to be just one chance 
for me. He might have driven in some 
conveyance from the church and back. It 
hardly seemed likely. For, if he had done 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 257 

so, it would have been as if he had sum- 
moned up testimony against himself. 

I made inquiries in the town, with which 
I need not trouble the reader. They led 
me to the not unexpected conclusion that 
on Sunday, and at that time of night, the 
curate could not have used a cab without 
my being able to trace it. I was not able 
to trace it, and I became entirely convinced 
that no conveyance had been used. 

The afternoon wore away during these 
investigations. The more hopeless the 
facts seemed to become, the more desper- 
ately resolved I felt that the crime must be 
traced home to Austin Harvey. He was 
the guilty man. I knew it. He shall not 
escape, I said. Nevertheless, at seven, I 
resolved to go back to London. I had 
seen the clerk of St. Mary’s. I had again 
seen the deaf old landlady at Miss Raynell’s 
house. I had not learnt anything really 
new, except that Austin had left the vestry 
immediately after the second service, in 


17 


258 the black-box murder . 

great naste, before 9.45. I was hungry, 
tired, and disappointed. I turned my 
steps in the direction of the railway station. 

As I reached it, the boys were crying 
the evening papers. One thing they were 
calling out naturally attracted my attention. 
“ Arrest of the murderer ! Arrest of the 
murderer ! ” 

I stopped a boy who was passing, and 
bought an Echo . I opened it, and looked 
hastily through it, almost with an intuition 
of what I should find. There it was, in 
large letters. 

“ Third Edition — Arrest of the Black- 
Box Murderer at Dijon. — Philip Harvey, 
the man who is believed by the police to 
have murdered Miss Raynell, was arrested 
last night in the express train between 
Paris and Marseilles. The arrest was 
effected at the Dijon Station. ,, 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


259 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

A SHOT. 

I went straight home, with that newspaper 
in my hand, like a man dazed. I found 
Austin Harvey waiting for me in my sitting- 
room. Without a word of greeting or ex- 
planation, I walked up to him, and thrust 
the paper under his eyes. He read the 
news it brought. It frightened him very 
much. I was glad it frightened him. 

“ And what is to be done now ? ” he 
gasped. 

“ Done ! ” I replied bitterly ; “ the law 
must take its course, and the guilty man 
must swing.” 

Austin did not speak. I saw he could 
not. 

“ But they will have to prove, first,” I 
continued, looking closely at him, “ that he 
is the guilty man, and how he did it.” 


26 o 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


Austin’s face twitched nervously. 

“ Surely,” he said at last, with a great 
effort, “ that is plain enough ; only too 
plain.” 

“ It is not plain at all, as yet, to me, Mr. 
Harvey,” I answered, still staring him in 
the face ; “ and the more I investigate the 
case, the less plain it becomes to me. I 
am not at all sure that, as yet, we have 
found the right explanation.” 

We stood watching each other. Neither 
of us dared to say anything more. At this 
stage of my knowledge, I asked myself 
whether I had not already hinted too much. 
I had made Austin uneasy — that I could 
see. He was much perturbed by his 
brother’s arrest, and he had a vague feeling 
that my whole manner was pregnant with 
some meaning inimical to himself. 1 1 would 
not do to put him on his guard before I 
had proof. 

Proof, then, I must have. Philip’s arrest 
only accentuated the need for immediate 
action. But what could I do ? How was 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 261 

Austin responsible ? What part had he 
played ? To these -questions I had no 
answer, and Austin’s alibi was as perfect as 
any man could wish. 

We talked of Philip’s arrest and its im- 
minent consequences, and so got on to 
safer ground. Austin declared repeatedly 
that it was absolutely impossible for him to 
neglect his clerical duties any longer. He 
must get back by the last train that night. 
I tried hard to persuade him to go to Paris. 
I should have been only too glad to know 
him out of the way for a time. Surely, I 
thought, some suggestion must turn up, 
some indication must come to the fore. 
But Austin insisted on remaining. It was 
decided that I should return to Paris that 
very night, and watch the case as best I 
might. I could not deny that — from 
Austin’s standpoint — this was the best 
thing that could be done. I could find no 
reasonable excuse for refusing his request, 
and — as Southend appeared unable to 


262 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


furnish me with the desired explanation — 
I must admit I wa3 not unwilling to go 
back to Paris and to Philip Harvey. Per- 
haps I might be more successful there. 

I took leave, then, of Austin — or rather 
we started together, each for his particular 
station. What a quantity of ground we 
had both traveled over in the last forty- 
eight hours ! And yet I, for one, did not 
feel any physical fatigue, though I was cer- 
tainly morally exhausted and harassed by 
my ill-success. It vexed me exceedingly 
that I was obliged to receive this man — to 
speak to him, and to let him depart again 
without taxing him with what I knew to be 
his crime. Strangely enough, the more im- 
possible it seemed the more convinced I 
became that he was the murderer. But, 
nevertheless, I had to deliberate with him 
about his brother as if I believed every 
lying word he said. 

We were going down a quiet street 
together, when something flashed by us in 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


263 


the darkness, and at the same moment an 
idea — a hope — a possibility — flashed across 
my brain. A cyclist had just passed us. 


264 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


CHAPTER XXVII 

THE CHALLENGE. 

I turned to Austin Harvey on the spur of 
the moment. 

“ You cycle, do you not,” I said. 

It was like an inspiration. He broke 
out fiercely, with a sudden oath, — 

“ Damn you,” he said. “ What do you 
know ? How little ? How much ? ” 

He struck me over the face with his 
clenched fist, and darted down the street. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


265 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

FOLLOWING UP THE CLUE. 

As soon as I had recovered from the be- 
wilderment of the blow, I pulled myself 
together and walked on. I did not hurry. 
I made no futile attempt to overtake the 
runaway cleric. I felt sure now — sooner 
or later — everything would come right. I 
did not start for Paris. I went to the 
other station, and caught the Southend 
train. I looked in vain for the curate — he 
did not turn up. I got into the train, all 
the same. At that moment I could not stop 
him or catch him. Fortunately he would 
not be able to fly far before to-morrow 
morning, and I must find out about that 
cycle at once. 

I have called the idea an inspiration. 
It was not that. It was just merely a 


265 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


happy combination. In seeing- the cyclist 
pass me, it had suddenly struck me that 
a cycle gets over the ground even faster 
than a cab. As a mere shot I had said out 
my thought aloud to Austin Harvey, and it 
had struck fearfully and unexpectedly home. 
The unhappy man had betrayed himself. 
He must, then, indeed have murdered his 
aunt in those brief moments. Apparently 
he had used a bicycle to reach the house. 
I* could compute nothing further till I knew 
where he had obtained me machine. 

It was past eleven by the time I reached 
Mrs. Hopkins’ house for the second time 
that day. The house was dark. The 
whole family were in bed. Never mind, I 
rang and knocked till I woke them. Mrs. 
Hopkins appeared at a window, and I 
asked whether her reverend lodger was in 
the house. He was not ; he had not come 
home all day. Then Mrs. Hopkins must 
admit me instantly. I had important mat- 
ters to arrange with her, in the name 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 267 

of the law. Mrs. Hopkins obeyed with 
alarmed and inquisitive alacrity. 

Presently we were sitting in the parlor 
again — Mrs. Hopkins in dignified undress 
— by the light of a flickering candle. The 
daughter came peeping into the room, pale 
and anxious, with her hair in curl-papers. 
I put her out gently, and closed the door. 

“ Mrs. Hopkins,” I said, “ is there a 
cycling machine of any kind in this 
house ? ” 

“ Lor’ bless you, Mr. Detective,” said 
Mrs. Hopkins, u and what do you come 
here for at such a time of night to ask me 
such a question as that ? ” 

a But is there ? ” 

“ Y es, there is, if you must know, then.” 

I could have kissed the woman. 

“ There’s an old one belonging to my 
boy Jimmy, but it hasn’t been used for six 
months and more.” 

“ Show it to me.” 

Mrs. Hopkins grumbled a good deal at 
this, but ultimately decided to obey. She 


268 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


led me out, still with the candle, which only 
flickered the more in the night air, to a 
small, oblong plot at the back of the house. 
In one corner of this plot was a tool-shed 
with an unlocked door ; and in the shed a 
bicycle, certainly not of the latest make, 
leant up against the wall. There was a 
back entrance to the yard, as I immediately 
noticed on entering it. 

I stooped down and examined the 
machine. I took it out and rolled it up 
and down the little garden. The wheels 
moved quite easily. It had certainly been 
recently oiled. 

“ You say it has not been used within 
the last six months ? ” I asked. 

“ No, indeed. Who would use it ? My 
son is away in London.” 

“ Mr. Harvey never cycles that you 
know ? ’ * 

Mr. Harvey ? The Rev. Mr. Harvey ? 
Good gracious, no ! It’s a sport that’s 
scarcely befitting a clergyman, / should 
say,” said Mrs. Hopkins. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 269 

“ Well, opinions may vary as to that, 
Mrs. Hopkins,” I said. 

I put the machine back into the shed. 
There was no doubt as to its being available 
for actual use. 

“ And Mr. Harvey has a key to that 
door ? ” I remarked, pointing to the back 
entrance. 

“ Yes, he has. He wanted a latch-key 
when he took the rooms, but I wouldn’t let 
him have one. We’re two women alone in 
the house, and the neighborhood’s lone- 
some; so we agreed for him to use this 
back door, where he has to come past our 
bedroom, and I lock and bolt the front door 
at eleven, whether he’s in or not, you 
see.” 

I did see. Not that it mattered much, 
for he could easily have had the key made 
had he not possessed one. 

I took leave of Mrs. Hopkins, and went 
in search of some place where I might pass 
the night. I did not attempt to bind her 
over to secrecy. It would have been of no 


270 


THE BEACH-BOX MURDER . 


use. Besides, alive or dead, I was pretty 
nigh sure of my man by this time. 


THE BLACICBOX MURDER. 


271 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

I BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND. 

It was now possible for me to reconstruct 
the crime, — or, at least, my idea of it, — 
with a fair amount of accuracy. Presum- 
ably Austin Harvey had premeditated 
the murder of his aunt with a view to 
obtaining definite possession of her pro- 
perty before she again changed her will. 
The whole thing had been cleverly planned ; 
the murderer’s one preoccupation being to 
prove an alibi . In this effort he had been 
apparently successful. He could, of course, 
prove his presence in church up to past 
half-past nine. He could prove that he had 
reached his home before half-past ten, 
‘•having walked back,” as he would pro- 
bably say, “ along the cliffs.” And he had 
made further arrangements — the scoundrel 


272 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


— so as to prove that he had not left the 
house all night. 

No one, he fancied, would accuse him of 
walking two miles and a half, committing 
a murder, and unpacking a box full of books 
in considerably less than an hour, and here- 
in, certainly, he judged rightly. He knew, 
with but one or two other people, — the 
inmates of the house, — of the existence of 
the bicycle in the back shed ; he could get 
to it unnoticed ; probably — no, certainly — 
he had cycled in his youth before he ever 
took orders or came to Southend. No one 
would dream of so unlikely an explanation, 
for — to begin with — no one would ever 
suspect him at all. He must have rushed 
home from the church, and then done the 
two miles and a half which still remained 
to be accounted for on the machine. That 
would leave him a quarter of an hour more 
for what he had to do in the house. Enough 
in my judgment. 

The crime once committed, nothing 
remained but to throw the whole blame on 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 273 

his brother, the natural “ suspect.” On the 
one hand, this seemed a monstrous wicked- 
ness ; on the other, it became much more 
intelligible when it was remembered to 
what extent the rivalry for the hand of Miss 
Simpkinson had probably separated the 
two brothers, in spite of former affection. 
True, Philip had always spoken of his elder 
brother with attachment and even admira- 
tion : but then Philip was the successful 
aspirant to the lady’s heart, even though 
Austin had gained her hand, and success in 
such matters is apt to soften as much as 
failure makes hard. Austin, no doubt, 
would consider he had barely gained his 
cause as long as he had not ousted his 
brother out of Miss Simpkinson’s prefer- 
ence. There was one way, and one only, 
by which he might perhaps attain both 
ends — his own safety and his rival’s down- 
fall. What wonder if he took it, even 
though that rival happened to be his 
brother ? There are no natural affections 
in jealousy and war. 


18 


274 THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 

And now, suddenly, viewed in this light, 
all Austin’s conduct in Paris became clear 
to me. Once the murder was committed, 
he must have had two ends equally in 
view — one to fasten the guilt publicly on 
his brother, the other to rescue that bro- 
ther from the hands of justice. He did not 
— you may be sure— want to bring his 
brother to the gallows. What he wanted 
was to get Philip safely away to some 
distant land, whence he could never return, 
and then, equally safely and peacefully, to 
enjoy the possession of the lady and the 
money. He would probably have done all 
he could to make his brother comfortable 
under the circumstances. 

I could now understand how especially 
useful for his object the services of a private 
detective would be. My help was just the 
very thing he wanted, and he seized upon 
it with great adroitness. I must find out 
Philip’s guilt, and so frighten the man him- 
self into full belief of it and flight. To 
attain this he had given me just the neces- 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 275 

sary amount of information — and withheld 
it from the police. 

And the letter dropped on the stairs ! 
Great heaven, it must have been dropped 
on purpose ! Austin’s whole visit to me 
must have been made with the one object 
of letting that letter fall under my eyes as 
he went out. I began to feel sure of this, 
now I thought about it. His return to my 
room, the expostulation, the fight over the 
compromising document, these were merely 
got up to stifle any suspicion which might 
hare arisen in my breast. A man who is 
pHying a part is always ultra-anxious and 
he often overdoes it, because he can never 
qi/ite release himself from the fear that the 
person to be deluded must somehow notice 
what he, the deceiver, so plainly sees, i.e., 
the deceit. I remembered how unexpect- 
edly Austin Harvey’s strength had seemed 
to collapse during the struggle. I had 
remarked it at the time. I now felt sure 
that this was part of his prearranged plot ; 
an<& that he, young and athletic as he was, 


276 THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 

could easily have got the better of me if he 
had chosen to do so. 

And now I understood why the facts of 
the case had dawned upon me so conveni- 
ently at first. The murderer himself had 
been helping me, and refusing all help to 
the Government detectives. His whole 
computation was built up on the hope that 
the police would find out the truth a few 
days later than I. In that interval Philip 
would be compelled to fly. This plan had, 
as we have seen, succeeded and failed 
simultaneously. The Scotland Yard people 
had come after me, certainly, but they had 
followed too closely on my heels, and they 
had snapped up Philip before he could get 
away. Part of this, no doubt, was due to 
Austin’s mismanagement ; but part of it, 
also, could be accounted for by Philip’s un- 
willingness to recognize his imaginary guilt. 

In reality, then, while I had been 
sneering in my own heart at the authorities, 
they had been getting on as fast as they 
could under the circumstances ; while I, 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


277 

who had thought so much of my success, 
had simply been a tool in the hands of a 
man ten times more cunning than I was. 
Still, I had gone off the track he had 
marked out for me as soon as I realized 
the facts of the case, and ultimately I had 
outwitted him altogether. I could be 
proud of that, and rightly so. It was not 
Austin Harvey’s intention that I should 
brand Austin Harvey as the guilty man. 
And now, what must I do next ? Could I 
prove what I asserted ? If I could, should 
I go immediately to Scotland Yard and 
give in the case ? But what were my 
indications of Austin’s guilt ? A luggage- 
label, found in his pocket ; a loop in his 
handwriting ; a knot which had been untied 
a week ago. Pshaw ! evidence I had none. 

And Philip was already under arrest, 
with all the weight of suspicion lying heavy 
on his shoulders. Very probably he would 
confess his guilt. Very probably Austin 
was, even at this moment, hurrying away 
towards complete security. The idea got 


278 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

hold of me that, in spite of my discoveries, 
the case was going wrong. Austin would 
get away ; Philip would be condemned ; 
no one would believe me. 

That idea drove me simply frantic. I 
paced the streets all night, and, having set 
a Southend policeman to watch Austin’s 
house, I went back to London by the very 
earliest train. I had not had a regular 
sleep since my night in the Saracen’s Head, 
and even that had been a disturbed one. 
After that I had spent a night on the 
Channel, then a second night on the 
Channel, and now I was roaming up and 
down through the streets of Southend. I 
cannot say I felt tired. The hunting fever 
was upon me. 


THE black-box murder. 


279 


CHAPTER XXX. 

SCOTLAND YARD GIVES ITS OPINION. 

On arriving- in London, I went first to my 
rooms, actuated by some vague hope that 
Austin Harvey might be waiting for me 
there. I was not surprised to find this 
hope a mere delusion. I had scarcely 
trusted to it, and its unreasonableness 
seemed clear enough. So I betook myself 
to Scotland Yard, and easily succeeded in 
getting hold of the man who had managed 
the Black-Box inquiry. I had a number of 
acquaintances among the detectives at 
Scotland Yard. 

I found everybody talking about the 
murder, and elated at the capture. Bunsby, 
the fellow who had settled it all, was the 
hero of the day. 

“ Oh, yes,” he said to me, “ it’s all as 
clear as ditch-water, now, I can tell you. 


280 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

There never was a hitch after we once got 
hold of the right clue. I only wish we 
could have got the old lady at Paris to 
speak up sooner. The daughter’s no good. 
Once I knew about the nephew, it was all 
plain sailing. And we caught the fellow 
just as he was making a run for it. Very 
nearly gave us the slip ! ” 

<c And you’re quite sure you’ve got the 
right nephew ? ” I said. 

“ Sure ! Bless you, yes. Besides, the 
fellow’s confessed.” 

“ He has, has he ? ” I cried, with an in- 
voluntary oath. “ Poor fellow ! God help 
him, then ! ” 

The exclamation — a strong one — had 
burst from me. Mr. Bunsby surveyed me 
with indignant surprise. One or two other 
men in the room came forward from curio- 
sity. 

“ Look here,” I said desperately, “ con- 
fession’s the French way, and I daresay 
they squeezed it out of him. Never mind. 
Only, mind you, I’ve been looking into this 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 281 

case for the family, and I say, * Don’t be 
too sure you’ve got the right man yet. In 
any case, arrest his brother too, if you can, 
and you’ll be the better for it. He may 
turn out an accomplice.’ ” 

There was a general howl of derision. 
Government detectives naturally do not 
care to take advice from private ones. 
They distrust them, and look upon them as 
so many will-o’-the-wisps (intentional ones, 
often) in that swamp of crime on which the 
policeman’s bull’s-eye sheds its certain 
radiance. 

“ And that shows,” said Mr. Bunsby sen- 
tentiously, “what a mistake it is for you 
fellows to meddle in our cases. I presume 
you allude to the Rev. Austin Harvey. 
Now, I have looked very carefully into the 
matter, and I have accordingly made in- 
quiries also about the Rev. Austin Harvey, 
although there is not a shadow of a suspicion 
connected with his name. He is a highly- 
respected clergyman of the Church of 
England ; and, besides that, he was at 


282 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

home, and in his own bed, all through the 
night of the murder. So there ! ” 

Mr. Bunsby spread himself out, with his 
hands in his pockets, and stood watching 
me triumphantly. 

“You are quite sure of all that?” I 
asked. 

“ Quite sure. You needn’t try to 
bewilder us, sir ; it’s not worth your trouble. 
The case is too plain this time. I’ve got it 
all worked out like a sum in rule of three. 
Philip Harvey’s done the deed, and Philip 
Harvey ’ll swing for it.” 

What could I do with the man ? I saw 
that further efforts would be useless — at 
least at this moment. A sick helplessness 
came over me. Suddenly I realized that 
I was dead-tired. I went back to my own 
lodgings in a moral condition very like 
despair. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


2$3 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

AND AUSTIN WINDS UP THE CASE. 

As I crept slowly up my stairs, I kept on 
repeating to myself that it was no use, the 
law must take its course. After all, it was 
no business of mine. If the authorities 
blundered, they must bear the responsibi- 
lity ; it would not be the first innocent man 
they had hanged. And if Philip Harvey 
had chosen to confess himself guilty of a 
crime he had never committed, so much 
the worse for him. I must leave him to 
his fate. And yet — 

I opened my sitting-room door, and 
found myself face to face with Austin Har- 
vey. 

There he stood, on the other side of the 
table, between the windows, his face turned 
from the light. None the less, I could see 


284 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

that he was very pale and worn-looking, 
and that there was a feverish sparkle in his 
clear, blue eyes. He stood with his arms 
crossed over his broad chest, in his long 
clerical coat, handsome, and stalwart, and 
still. 

“ What is it ? ” I said, as soon as I could 
find speech. “ What have you come here 
for, Mr. Harvey ? What do you want with 
me?” 

u I want to speak to you,” said Austin, 
in a dull voice ; “ and I want to ask you 
something. It is true that Philip is 
arrested ? ” 

“ Of course it is true,” I replied, not 
pausing to note whether there was an in- 
terrogation in his voice or not. “ Have 
you come here to ask me that ? ” 

“ I have come for a good deal more,” 
Austin answered, in a voice full of meaning 
and menace. “ I believe it is true. I 
have not seen the morning papers ; I did 
not dare to buy them. Have you got 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 285 

“ No ; but Philip’s caught. His guilt is 
proved, and he’ll be hung in a week or two. 
And now, you — you assassin and fratricide, 
what do you come whining here for ? Go 
home, and marry the woman who loves 
him." 

Even as I spoke, however, I moved 
towards the bell. There was only one in 
the room, Austin saw the movement, and 
placed himself in front of the corner I had 
in view. 

“You are going to try and get me 
arrested ? " he said contemptuously. “ No, 
no, my friend, you will bide my own time 
for that." 

There v^as a quiet, ominous way about 
him which compelled me to listen. I faced 
him, and bade him say his say. 

“ You honestly and truly believe,” said 
Austin, “ that Philip will be condemned ? 

“ Yes ; he has confessed." 

“ And his guilt is clear to the authori- 
ties?” 


286 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

“ They think so ; but I know, you 
coward, that you are the man.” 

“ And why do you want to have me 
arrested, if you cannot prove your charge ? ” 

“ We shall see/’ I said fiercely. “ Truth 
may triumph yet.” 

Before the words were out of my throat, 
Austin had flung himself upon me, his 
heavy hand pressed tight across my mouth. 
He bore me down with him, and in another 
moment, before I could utter a sound, he 
was busy tying my hands with a silk hand- 
kerchief. He finished the work deliberately, 
and then he secured my feet with the table- 
cloth. I lay helpless in the great physical 
strength of the man. I recalled, even at 
that moment, how accurate had been my 
supposition with regard to the struggle in 
Paris. He could have crushed me at any 
time. 

When he had completed his work, he 
came and stood over me, and slowly, from 
his left hand trousers pocket, he drew a 
bright little revolver. I could not com- 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 287 

mand the working of my features at the 
sight of such a weapon in the hands of such 
a man. 

“ Never fear,” said Austin sadly, “ I am 
not going to kill you unless you oblige me 
to.” 

I could not answer him ; but in my heart 
I said to myself, “ You will have to kill me 
before you force me to do a wrong to your 
wretched brother.” And yet, I could not 
help pitying the man, as I looked up at his 
miserable, handsome face. 

“ And now, listen to me,” continued 
Austin, “and remember every word I say. 
There’s nothing to keep me from leaving 
this country for ever. I’ve got my aunt’s 
money in my pocket. Do you under- 
stand ? ” 

I nodded assent. 

“ There’s still less to keep me from 
pinching that throat of yours for a few 
minutes, and so stopping for ever all 
chatter about my share in the Black-Box 
Murder.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


I nodded assent again. 

“ There's still less to keep me from 
quietly unfastening those bandages and 
going down into the street, leaving you to 
tell your version of the murder if you 
choose. Do you think any one will believe 
you ? ” 

I made no sign. 

Ci Do you think any one will believe 
you ? ” he repeated angrily, touching my 
prostrate body with his foot. 

I was obliged reluctantly to shake my 
head. No ; in fact I did not think any one 
would believe me. 

“ Nobody would," said Austin. Ct Very 
well. And yet you are right, and all the 
world is wrong. Do you hear that ? Philip 
is innocent, and I am the murderer. And 
now, if I release you, what will you make 
of my confession ? Take it to Scotland 
Yard ? They will laugh at you and your 
bicycle, and when I tell them you are crazy, 
they will answer that they know that al- 
ready.” 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 289 

There was something maddening about 
the man’s cool strength. I struggled vainly 
with my bonds. He smiled a bitter, scorn- 
ful smile. 

“ Lie still for a little,” he said, “ and 
hear the rest. As I was saying, you are 
right, and the Scotland Yard people are 
wrong. I murdered my aunt. I murdered 
her for love — not for the money, as 
you may think — but for love. The 
quarrel about Miss Simpkinson had been 
going on for weeks. I loved Miss Simp- 
kinson. I worshipped the very ground 
she trod on. I did not think Philip worthy 
of her. I was sure that I should make her 
a better husband. I still believe I should 
have done so. My aunt maddened me 
with the constant ups and downs of her 
caprices. I knew that her last will appointed 
me her heir ; but she was gradually chang- 
ing. She had resolved, for some reason 
or other, that Philip must marry Miss Simp- 
kinson if he wanted to. On Sunday after- 
noon she told me definitely that she was 
19 


290 THE BLACKBOX MURDER. 

going up to London early on the Monday 
morning to alter her will, and divide her 
money equally between us. She would 
tell Mrs. Simpkinson what she was doing, 
she said, before that lady started for Paris, 
and Mrs. Simpkinson must act accordingly. 
I saw this time that she meant it. If she 
lived to go up to her London lawyers, 
Edith Simpkinson was lost to me for ever. 
I loved the girl madly. I could not live 
without her. I hated my brother because 
of his successful love of her. I knew that 
she had accepted me partly to please her 
mother, and partly out of indignation at 
some escapades of Philip’s, which I had 
been instrumental in bringing under her 
notice. I do not mind telling you now that 
some of the stories which thus reached her 
were exaggerated, to say the least. I 
knew that she would escape me if my aunt 
had her own way. I should lose her for 
ever. I could not bear the thought. 

“ I saw Philip that evening just before 
the seven o’clock service. He came to my 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


291 


rooms for money. He had been taking 
too much wine, and I told him so. He 
drew out his handkerchief while he was with 
me, and he drew out his door-key with it. 
The door-key fell on the hearth-rug. I 
picked it up and put it in my pocket. That 
key was the origin of all the mischief. Had 
I, not had it, I should never have thought 
of returning to my aunt’s. I had seen 
her twice already, in the afternoon, and 
immediately after dinner. I had found 
her inflexible, and at the second interview 
we had quarreled. I picked up the key 
because I feared Philip would lose it — for 
no other reason. I repeat : had he not 
dropped it, the rest would not have hap- 
pened. 

“ When I came out of church at 9.30, I 
rushed home. All through the services the 
key had been burning a hole in my pocket. 
I could not rest without seeing my aunt 
once more that night. To-morrow it would 
be too late. I must reason with her. Per- 
haps, after all, she would listen to me still. 


292 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


I went round by the back way and took out 
the bicycle. I had used it once or twice 
before by night ; never mind for what. I 
had been a great cyclist at the university, 
but had given it up entirely since my ordi- 
nation. I felt now, however, that I should 
be too late if I walked over. My aunt 
always went to bed between ten and a 
quarter past. I made a rush for it. I 
swear to you — Do you follow me ? ” 

Again he touched me slightly with his 
foot. Again I nodded — defiantly. 

“ I swear to you that I had not the 
slightest intention of injuring her in any 
way. I was desperate — mad with love. I 
had an idea that one last attempt might 
move her. I never dreamed of hurting 
her. I reached the house. All was already 
dark. I let myself in with Philip’s key. I 
knew there was nobody in the house but 
the deaf old landlady, dozing or asleep 
downstairs. My aunt’s rooms were on the 
ground floor, close by the door. The lights 
were out in the sitting-room. My brother’s 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 


2 93 


door was shut, my aunt’s ajar. I pushed 
my aunt’s door open. A candle was burn- 
ing on the dressing table. My aunt was 
lying, completely dressed, close to the door 
which communicated with Philip’s room. 
She had fallen forward ; her head had 
struck against a sofa arm. I have since 
conjectured that Philip roughly pushed her 
out of his room, and, at the same time, 
violently banged to the door, thereby cover- 
ing the sound of her fall. Probably her 
foot had caught in her dress or the carpet. 

“ I went up to her. She was breathing : 
moving restlessly. She had only been 
stunned. I saw that she was rapidly com- 
ing to. I stood looking at her for a 
moment. In that moment the whole pos- 
sibility flashed across my brain. I bent 
down by the door. I could hear Philip’s 
heavy breathing. There was chloroform, 

I knew, on his table. I crept in. I could 
see, by the faint light, that he was lying 
across his bed, dressed, and asleep. (He 
must remember, you see, having woke 


294 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

next morning in his clothes ; and that, 
though I could not speak of it to him, 
increased his uncertainty.) I crept back 
with the bottle, and killed my aunt with 
her own handkerchief across her face. It 
was all done in a few minutes. Edith was 
mine ; but now I must save myself, and 
Philip must bear the blame. It was the 
only way to secure Edith for ever. And 
he deserved it. Why had he tried to take 
her from me ? 

u Circumstances favored me. I dragged 
Philip’s box out of the room. I unpacked 
it hurriedly, piling up its contents in the 
first cupboard I saw. Then I placed the 
dead body in it. I believe — I truthfully 
believe— it was dead by that time.” Even 
Austin shuddered here. “ I closed and 
corded the box as Philip had done. I 
took the key away with me, and next day 
I pretended to find it in my aunt’s room. 
The latch-key I replaced in Philip’s 
pocket. 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 295 

“ I tumbled the bed, and went into the 
sitting-room and drank out the glass of 
milk standing ready on the table. In any 
case, it would be safer to render it likely 
that the murder had been committed in the 
morning. That would perfect my alibi. 
I slipped out of the house, and rushed home 
on my bicycle. Then I went round to the 
front door. As I passed upstairs, I drew 
my landlady’s attention to the fact that it 
was not yet half-past ten. I could have 
produced evidence, had such been required, 
that I did not leave the house again all 
night.” 

The blackguard ! I knew he could. 

t( Next morning I accompanied Philip to 
London. It was believed that Miss Ray- 
nell had preceded us. As soon as I had 
committed the murder, I had grown won- 
derfully calm and collected. My one idea 
now was, I must admit, how best to impli- 
cate Philip. I saw to the luggage on our 
arrival, and it was at the London station 
that, happening to stand waiting next to 


296 THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 

the box, I marked it with the letters 6 P. H./ 
in imitation of Philip’s handwriting. I 
imitated them from memory, but I knew 
them well enough.” 

I, garrotted, bound down, listening help- 
lessly to this story of the murder — I wisely 
kept my counsel here. 

“ At the same time,” Austin went on, “ I 
tore off the label which had been just stuck 
on at Southend. It was more than half 
detached already. I did it from the fancy 
that the letters would be the more easily 
seen the less labels were on the box. I 
wished them to be seen. I could not 
imagine that the box would get mixed up 
with others, and the letters effaced. Had 
I had the opportunity, I would have painted 
Philips name on it in great white letters. 
I could not do that, so I marked it as best 
I was able. I threw the old label away.” 

Again the man he held at his mercy could 
have told him better. 

“ And now I come to the one great mis- 
hap in the whole story. My brother’s box 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 297 

and Miss Simpkinsons were exchanged at 
Charing Cross, and Miss Simpkinson got 
mixed up in the matter. I would have 
given anything to save her. It is impos- 
sible to say how it happened My brother 
had insisted on looking after the luggage, 
and I had been obliged, much against my 
will, to stay with the ladies. The boxes 
were almost exactly similar. We had 
fetched the ladies at their hotel, where they 
had spent the night, and all the boxes had 
gone on one omnibus. Probably the maid 
pointed out the wrong box as her mistress’. 

“ My brother was to accompany the 
ladies as far as Dover, and to remain there. 
By that strange fatality which is the greatest 
auxiliary of the police, the box which con- 
tained my aunt’s dead body traveled over 
to France in Mrs. Simpkinsons keeping, 
and was opened at the Paris station. 

“ I had intended my brother to take it 
with him to Dover. The body would be 
found in his possession. Probably he him- 


298 7 HE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 

self would find it. In any case, the full 
weight of suspicion would fall upon him. 

“ In this one point I failed utterly. With 
regard to other matters, I was fairly success- 
ful. You will probably have sense enough 
to understand by this time what use I made 
of you. You came in very conveniently. 
But you went further than I had intended, 
and found out more — damn you — than I 
had expected. However, all that is useless 
now. I swear to you that I had hoped 
from the very first to get Philip away in 
time. That was all I was striving for. 
And I took trouble enough about it, heaven 
knows. I wanted to frighten him into flight, 
through you. And he could have escaped, 
and there would have been an end of it. 
He would have left the field clear for me, 
and I. should have provided for him out 
yonder. But there, his capture changes 
the whole thing. I can’t have him hung. 
And, whatever happens, I’ve lost Edith. I 
had a letter from her yesterday to say that 
she had never loved me, that she had 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER . 299 

always loved Philip — that she loved him 
all the more now he was in trouble, and 
that — murder or no murder — she would 
remain true to him for ever. That’s my 
confession. Make of it what you can. If 
it’s any use to Philip, I don’t care. Tell 
Edith I always loved her; I love her 
still.” 

His words had been rising to a shriek. 
As he finished, he deliberately pointed the 
revolver to his left temple, and shot him- 
self dead. He had intended, in shooting, 
to fall backwards, but, from the effect of 
the shot, he oscillated one moment towards 
me, and then fell right across my prostrate 
body with a heavy thud. 

I tried to call out— of course I could not. 
I tried to struggle free — it was in vain. 
The dead body lay there, crushing me 
down, a warm, impassive weight. It was 
too horrible. I lost consciousness. 


Nothing remains to be told. The facts 


300 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


worked themselves into their places ; the 
Scotland Yard people unwillingly saw what 
they were obliged to see ; the whole case 
was hushed up. I believe Miss Simpkin- 
son carried off her poor, good-for-nothing 
lover to New Zealand or Australia, and 
that she ultimately married him there. I 
hope they were happy, but I cannot help 
having my doubts, unless Philip conquered 
that fatal propensity of his for drink. I 
have been told that he did, and that the 
terrible shock made a different man of him. 
Of course he came into his aunt’s little for- 
tune through Austin’s death. 

I left the service of the detective office 
not many months after the events narrated 
in this book, and, during the rest of my 
time there, I came across nothing in any 
way approaching in interest to the tragedy 
which remains known among a small set 
of individuals as the Black-Box Murder. 

I have told my story as best as I could. 
I am not, as I said at the outset, a literary 


THE BLACK-BOX MURDER. 


301 


man, and I hope the reader will accordingly 
pardon me all literary shortcomings, for 
the sake of the interest of my tale. 

































63. A Very Strange Family. By F. W. Robin-on 

64. Tiie Kilburhs. By Annie Thomas 

65. The Firm of Girdlestone. By A. Conan Doyle 

66. In Her Earriest Yor t th. By Tasma 

67. The Lady Egerla. By J. B. Harwood 

68. A True Friend. By Adeline Sergeant 

69. The Littre Chateraine. By The Earl of Desart 

70. ( h ird ren of To-Morrow. By William Sharp 

71. The Haunted Fountain and Hetty’s Revenge. By Katl ariue S. 

Macquoid 

72. A Daughter’s Sacrifice. By F. C. Philips and Percy Fendall 

73. Hauntings. By Vernon Lee 

74. A Smuggrer’s Secret. By Frank Barrett 

75. Kesterr of Greystone. By Esme Stuart 

76. The Talking Image of Urer. By Franz Hartmann, M.D 

77. A Scarlet Sin. By Florence Marryatt 

78. By Order of the Czar. By Joseph Hatton 

79. Tiie Sin of Joost Avelingh. By Maarten Maartcns 

80. A Born Coquette. By “The Duchess” 

81. The Burnt Million. By James Payn 

82. A Womam’s Heart. By Mrs. Alexander 

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84. The Rival Princess. By Justin McCarthy and Mrs. C. Praed 

85. Blindfold. By Florence Marryatt 

86. The Parting of the Ways. By Betham-Edwards 

87. The Failure of Ei.isabeth. By E. Frances Poynter 

88. Eli's Child ren. By George Manville Fenn 

89. The Bishop’s Bible. By David Christie Murray and Henry Hermann 

90. April’s Lady. By “ The Duchess.” 

91. Violet Vyvian, M. F. H. By May Crommelin 

92. A Woman of the. World. By F. Mabel Robinson 

93. Tiie Baffled Conspirators. By W. E. Norris 

94. Strange Crimes. By William Westall 

95. Dishonoured. By Theo. Gift 

96. The Mystery of M. Felix. By B. L. Far jeon 

97. With Essex in Ireland. By Hon. Emily Lawless 

98. Soldiers Three and Other Stories. By Rudyard Kiph. 

99. Whose was the Hand? By M. E. Braddon 

100. The Blind Musician. By Stepniak and William Westa! 

101. The House on the Scar. By Bertha Thomas 

103. The Phantom Rickshaw. By Rudyard Kipling 

104. The Love of a Lady. By Annie Thomas 

105. How Came IIe Dead ? By J. Fitzgerald Molloy 

106. The Vicomte’s Bride. By Esme Stuart 

107. A Reverend Gentleman. By J. Maclaren Cobban 

108. Notes from the ‘ News.’ By James Payn 

109. The Keeper of the Keys. By F W. Robinson 

110. The Scudamores. By F. C. Philips and C. J. Wills 

111. The Confessions of a Woman. By Mabel Collins 

112. Sowing the Wind. By E. Lynn Linton 

114. Margaret Byng. By F. C. Philips 

115 For One and the World. By M. Betham-Edwards 

116. Princess Sunshine. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell ." 

117. Suoane Square Scandal. By Annie Thomas 

118. The Night of 3rd ult. By H. F. Wood 

119. Quite Another Story. By Jean Ingelow 

120. Heart of Gold. By L. T. Meade 

121. The Word and the Will. By James Payn 

122. Dumps. By Mrs. Louisa Parr 

123. The Black Box Murder 

124. The Great Mill St. Mystery. By Adeline Sargeant 

125 Between Life and Death. By Frank Barrett 

126. Name and Fame. By Adeline Sargeant and Ewing Lester 

127- Dramas of Life. By George R. Sims 

128. Lover or Friend? By Rosa Nouchette Carey 

129. Famous or Infamous. By Bertha Thomas 

130. The House of IIalliwell. By Mrs. H. F. Wood 

131. Ritffino. By Ouida 

132. Alas. By Rhoda Broughton 


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